


Same: Logic/Teeth/Demons/Tourniquet

by Phenobarbital



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Canon deviation, Complicated Relationships, Deadpool being Deadpool, Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Main story takes place post blip, Mentions of a rape victim, Mixed Comic/Movie Verses, Moderate slow burn, No Underage Sex, Prior to/during/post DP HoCo DP2 Infinity War FFH, Spideypool - Freeform, Time Skips, Typical NY Crime, Violence, dark tones, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenobarbital/pseuds/Phenobarbital
Summary: The first time they met, Peter had been fifteen and Deadpool had seemed like a weird enigma to him.The next time they met, Peter had blipped and Deadpool hadn't. Time, having passed in unequal amounts for two very different people, had fundamentally changed their lives and the people they were. They hadn't even ever known one another before, and now that was about to change...
Relationships: Deadpool/Spider-man, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Spideypool
Comments: 68
Kudos: 205





	1. You could never really win...

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a mixture of comicbook and movie Deadpool, I will be using themes and dynamics of his character from both forms of media, but I will be using them differently than they feature in canon. Hence the tag for canon deviation. Spider-Man is primarily from the new MCU movies, and there will be canon deviation for him as well.  
> I hesitated about posting this for a while because I have unfinished works in other fandoms, but if I don't push myself I'll probably never do anything.  
> So here I go.  
> NB: Not beta read, all errors are mine.
> 
> Credit to Lyson on AO3 for chapter marker images.

* * *

_...not to say you're born to lose._

* * *

The first time Peter became aware of the man he would later learn was called Deadpool, he'd been 14 years old. He'd only been Spider-Man for about two months and he was still adjusting, still finding his gravity and physics defying footing on the walls and rooftops of New York's buildings and skyscrapers. He'd still been adding little changes to his haphazardly thrown together –but hopefully not _totally amateur_ – Spider-Man costume, still perfecting his webbing formula and still sneaking out of the house, hiding from May and feeling so guilty, but also so exhilarated about it all...

* * *

That first moment of awareness came early on a Tuesday evening. Peter was sitting on one end of the sofa in the lounge of the apartment he shared with May, who was sitting a comfortable distance away near the other end, neither of them were speaking as they focused on eating their respective plates of Bolognaise; one of May's more successful attempts at home cooking. They were absently watching a rerun of a sitcom while they ate, although Peter's mind was distracted; roughly 85% of his distraction was on his plans for patrol that evening while the other 15% was split up over his own growing popularity on Youtube, his incomplete homework assignments and how pretty Liz had looked that day at school.

Honestly, as spaced out as he was, he likely wouldn't have noticed that May had changed the channel, or that the news was playing on the TV if she hadn't turned up the volume to listen to it herself. There was something major happening on the screen though, and he found himself tuning in when he heard the newscaster talking about a multicar collision that had turned shots-fired, and then finally escalated to full on homicide on the Crosstown Expressway just that morning. Peter had frowned in frustration and chewed his mouthful a little harder than necessary, immediately thinking that he should have been there. But he'd been in school. _Dammit_. He'd shaken the frustration off though, because skipping school wasn't an option, he knew that. There was no way it'd go unnoticed and it was a bad idea anyway.

He continued to watch, absently lipping and slurping spaghetti into his mouth as he stared at the busy news screen. The newscaster was talking about the high number of casualties, both the intentionally –and violently- murdered, as well as the 'collateral damage' victims of the attack, the carnage of which stretched out for a little more than two miles on the Expressway.

Peter sorely swallowed the mouthful he'd been slowly chewing, nausea churning in his stomach when he watched the helicopter footage onscreen pan out over the aftermath of the scene that morning as it flew along the long stretch of highway. And he swallowed again, eyes a little wide in shock when he spotted a large amount of blood on one of the overhead directional signs. He could only think of it as a _splat_ from the way it looked, and considering the fact that the fire department and forensics people could be seen trying to elevate some people up there, and that there was a tarp covering a body on the car below the _splat_ , it was quite obvious that a person had hit that highway sign…hard.

' _Jesus, how even…?_ ' he wondered with a few stunned blinks and a grimace at the continued aftermath display of violent murder and mayhem on the screen. In the next moment, a very poorly captured video took over the screen as the newscaster went on explaining the video. The footage was made unclear by too much blur from motion, because someone was running with their phone out no doubt, but the backs of several men with guns was visible enough, and they were all aiming at a car flipped on its side in the distance. Peter watched, curious and confused, when a mask covered head popped up on the other side of the car for a second before the gunmen all started shooting. The video ended there with panicked abruptness, scared screams of civilians cutting off. Obviously the person recording had wisely decided to flee properly. They'd probably run away fast after that, which was what they should have done from the beginning.

By the end of the recap of that morning's main news story, and after showing the crazy back up of traffic as explanation for why the police and other emergency responders hadn't gotten there sooner, the footage ended and the newscasters finally moved on to describing what they'd likely been told by witnesses was the description of the assailant. And while it really wasn't much, Peter didn't find it comforting that the guy had been so plainly described as a man wearing a full body red suit, because his own outfit had a lot of red in it and was full body, and he didn't want people speculating about all red suited supers out there and mistaking him for being the 'armed and dangerous' man who had killed all those people and caused all that chaos on the Expressway! Crap!

They didn't even have a name for the guy, so Peter couldn't even go looking for him, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. The guy was obviously very dangerous and everything he'd caused on the Expressway was kind of terrifying to think of. Hell, Peter found it really disturbing that a witness driving at the time of the attack had claimed to see the suited assailant fall from the sky straight down _into_ one of the cars of the gunmen, which was apparently how the entire debacle had started. Did that mean he could fly, too? Damn.

* * *

The horrible news story didn't leave his mind for hours afterward, and later that evening while on patrol, during a lull in activity, Peter had sat on a rooftop corner of a five story building, relatively far from home, and he'd decided to Google the incident. It was then that he'd discovered a few more interesting details about the incident. Like that an X-Men Blackbird had apparently showed up, but the X-Men hadn't stayed long enough for the police to find out if they knew who the assailant was. The internet also revealed that among the marksmanship headshot kills made by the red suited assailant, some of his worst acts of violence had been a decapitation, a guy who'd been turned into a bloody Rorschach _splat_ on the overhead sign, a katana skewered man, several mangled bodies caused by the car collisions and also a severed, unidentified black gloved hand. The information may have been fake or exaggerated, but honestly, some of the bravest and often most reliable 'news reporters' were those who hosted their own online news sites dedicated to revealing all the gory details.

And gory they were.

More officially though, the police had recovered two katanas and exactly – _only_ \- twelve Desert Eagle Mark XIX bullet shells, all of which were believed to belong to the assailant. So…only twelve bullets. One man, two swords and twelve bullets. Peter wasn't sure whether to be impressed or worried about a guy who fell out of the sky, caused so much damage and destruction **and** took out three SUV's and three motorcycles carrying machine gun wielding, likely professional, bad guys, all on his own, with so little ammunition and two swords. And yes, bad guy seemed like it was a profession these days.

The entire story seemed so crazy and so out there that it'd stayed on his mind for a long time…

* * *

That was, until Tony Stark showed up at his and May's apartment talking about taking him –i.e Spider-Man- to friggen' Berlin! At that point, the unknown red suited super, who was probably some kind of up and coming villain, ceased to be on Peter's mind, because not only was Iron Man and the Avengers soooo _way_ more important, there also hadn't been any other news about the red suited katana wielding man for months, and in a place like NY where all kinds of things were going on constantly, it was really hard to stay relevant.

* * *

The novelty of the Avengers did start to wear thin though, especially when after the trip to Berlin, he was left with no actual contact with Mr. Stark. His fifteenth birthday passed by, totally unmemorable; shared with May at home with the only extra additions being a chocolate birthday cake and Ned having come over to visit.

More time passed after that and Happy kept brushing him off, over and over, leaving him feeling insignificant and underestimated. And it wasn't that he really wanted something bad to happen in New York, because that would make him a shitty person, but he just wanted to do **more** to help people...and maybe he was also a little bored.

Right up until he wasn't anymore, because Flying Vulture Guy, AKA Liz's dad, showed up, and then Peter got a taste of his first actual villain...

…as well as his own blood pooling on his tongue from having Flying **Metal** Vulture Guy kick the ever-loving shit out of him.

* * *

The aftermath of the whole ordeal seemed deceitfully calm in the wake of the blazing fire trail left by the Stark plane when it'd crashed down on Coney Island beach.

But at least the cool air felt good on his face where he sat high up on the Cyclone, taking in shallow breaths due to the fact that he probably had a few cracked -or broken- ribs from being slammed into the ground under a friggen' metal talon a handful of times. There was nothing soft about sand when hitting into it with that amount of force and pressure, yeesh! He was trying not to think of how beat up he looked though, or of how he was going to explain it all to May, because even though he healed faster than was normally humanly possible, it would still take at least a day or so for him to be painlessly functional again, and the bruising would linger a little longer than that. He couldn't hide from May forever, logically he knew that, but for the time being he'd just keep winging it when making up excuses.

He sat for a while longer trying to process everything, but it was when he shifted, finally ready to start making his way home, that he groaned, first from the ache around his torso, and then drawing out into a whinier groan, because he remembered that he was almost out of web fluid in his single remaining shooter. He'd reloaded his last cartridge after the fight and then used most of it up securing Stark's crates and Vulture Guy all together. And shit, his shoulder hurt too, from being yanked around trying to turn an airplane and then trying to keep Vulture Guy from dead dropping him and flying away.

Talk about a shitshow.

There was nothing for it though, this was what he'd signed up for in becoming Spider-Man, and he was smart enough to know that there would probably be worse someday, although, he did hope it wasn't any time too soon. He wanted to at least heal up first. So, maybe a month at least…?

Crime didn't wait for anybody though.

Taking a slightly deeper breath and mentally fortifying himself, he got a good grip on the nearest metal bar and began to cling and crawl his way down the frame of the rollercoaster, grimacing through the aches and pains in his body as he mentally calculated how long it would take him to get home on foot. Queens wasn't crazy far from Coney Island, but without public transport or his web shooters **and** the soreness of his body, it would take a while and it'd feel much longer.

Hell, he couldn't even take the subway because he had no money or his pass on him.

He sighed heavily -which hurt his ribs, ow- right when he reached the ground, having just gingerly dropped off the rollercoaster frame onto the concrete. And he was thinking tiredly to himself about all of the destruction that was stretched across the shore, thinking of the many times the city had been faced with cleaning up supers' messes, and for the first time in months, thinking of the mess that the red suited guy had made on that highway, when the worst possible coincidence that could have happened, happened; he turned around and came face to face with the very same red suited guy.

Or rather, _face_ to _mask_. Okay, well actually the guy was standing several meters away from him, but _**still**_.

' _Fuck.'_ Peter, immediately flushing hot with panic, inwardly cursed, using a word he only did when he made a **major** mistake, like right then, when he'd been too caught up in his mind, with the pain and all the shit he'd just been through, to remember that he was _bare-faced_. And now he was standing _unmasked_ before someone he was entirely sure was a _villain_.

He didn't even have the luxury of second guessing himself on whether it was the man from the news, because on the man's body was a plainly visible array of weapons, including two katanas and two large guns strapped and holstered to his person. His _very_ tall and _very_ built person.

Even standing a short distance from one another as they were, Peter could _easily_ see the difference between them in both size and height. And while, being Spider-Man, that didn't _really_ intimidate him so much anymore, because super strength, all he knew about this man was that he was a super who had killed many people with very little ammo, very skillfully. And Peter had no way of knowing whether this super was stronger than his own super! The man could be super skilled and have super strength! So, the fact that Peter's nerves were rankled and his heart was racing in panic didn't seem so unreasonable to him. He swallowed nervously, hoping it wasn't audible, as they stood staring at one another in the relative dark, Peter doing his best to ignore the stinging of cuts and aches of bruises and fractures all over his body, the taste of blood still lingering on his tongue.

He knew the situation wasn't looking good for him, still, he was mentally preparing himself for another fight...but then a weird thing happened. Actually, a few weird things happened. First off, the masked man squinted, and someway, somehow, his mask's eyes _expressed_ it, the whites narrowing into a squint in the same way real eyes would. And that was _so_ bizarre, because Peter could clearly see – very clearly with his enhanced vision- that there were no lenses, like on his own, on the man's mask.

He didn't have a chance to wonder about it though, because the next weird thing happened. The man – who was standing very still, with his hands stationery at his sides- tilted his head slowly to the side, and again his mask somehow expressed that he was giving Peter a very obvious once over, from his feet all the way up over the length of his body, before finally the white eyes of his mask locked with Peter's own wide, dark eyes.

There was a pause that followed, and it was tense _and_ intense, but even as the fine hairs all over his body were standing on end from the sensation of knowing someone was scrutinizing him, his super senses were not sending any zinging warnings of danger to his brain. Was that a good sign? Peter just hoped his senses weren't messed up somehow after that fight because-

"Fuck!" the man stage whispered rather loudly and out of nowhere as he whipped his head to the side, making Peter jump slightly, startled by the suddenness of it. And his hands tightened into fists when the armed man added in a strained, slightly quieter whisper, " **That's** fucking Spider-Man!? What the fuck!" which Peter easily heard because his hearing, like his eyesight, was enhanced. He was confused though, because the man seemed upset? Unsettled? Bothered by something?

Yep, he was bothered by something, it was confirmed when the guy looked at Peter again with a distressed expression on his...mask. Then his mask's expression turned to one of forced pleasantness, white eyes impossibly crinkling with a smile not visible through the red material, before he spoke somewhat loudly and very cheerily for someone who appeared so dangerous and daunting,

"Hi, there, it's Spider-Man, right?!" he greeted, taking a sudden, naturally wide stride forward, that time startling Peter's confused senses enough that he stepped back less than gracefully, fists raising up just in case.

The man seemed utterly unperturbed by Peter's reaction though, simply ceasing to approach and raising his hands up in a way to suggest he meant no harm as he said,

"Whoa there red n' blue, this is _not_ a hostile situation." Peter didn't even have a chance to figure out whether he believed the man before the guy kept talking, "You're kind of jumpy, huh?" he chuckled smoothly, placing his hands on his hips, "You wouldn't happen to be of the jumping spider variety would you?" he asked -jokingingly?- but again, gave Peter little more than enough time to twitch before he was talking again, "You don't actually look like a spider, like, at all! Not even a leeeetle bit, I see only two eyes and no extra legs, unless, are they retractable? Because that would be pretty fucking freaky to see..."

Peter frowned as the guy kept right on talking about how he didn't look like a real spider. He could hear strain in the man's tone even as he was clearly trying to make jokes and sound lighthearted, and Peter just couldn't understand _why_ the man sounded like he was freaking out about something, not until his latest bout of strained chuckles turned into a wheeze and he said,

"What you **do** look like, though, is a fucking **teenager**." the last word sounding like it was a revelation to the guy, a deeply distressing one at that.

And while just a few days earlier Peter had been really annoyed by being treated and looked at like he was a little kid by Mr. Stark, in that moment, as he stood tired, beaten up, vulnerably unmasked and desperately wanting to just go home and not get into another potentially life threatening fight with a super who was older, very well built, and very likely had more hands on combat and killing experience than Liz's father could have racked up in a year, Peter allowed the sliver of fear and wave of exhaustion moving through him to sink in and settle into his weary bones, and he gave into the truth.

In a slightly pitchy, entirely Peter Parker -the teenage nerd- tone of voice, he squeaked out,

"Yeah, I am." and he hated how small and watery he sounded, but his body was _aching_ , and he was so tired and really hungry. He was starting to feel just a little cold too, and the blood dried on his face was starting to itch and he had a long way to get home, and, and, and…

He really didn't know what to expect from the villain standing before him at that admission, and he felt so stupid because he was pretty sure it was going to backfire on him...but then, instead of the man laughing at him for being a kid, or whipping out one of his many, many weapons to start a fight, the guy started swearing quite violently under his breath.

There were several words said that Peter was familiar with, after all, he'd grown up in Queens, but they were the kinds of words he didn't use himself, and had never heard anyone use so very...fluently. Peter was sure there were even a few curses said in other languages, and then there was something thrown in there about the word _man_ being false advertising.

He sort of caught on then that the man was probably annoyed at finding out he was just a kid, although why he was so annoyed wasn't clear to Peter, because if anything, he was sure that should make him seem _less_ like a threat to the guy.

The cursing rant lasted about thirty seconds, Peter just standing by, before the man seemed to shake off whatever the heck was making him swear so furiously and he snapped his head up to lock his masked eyes with Peter's again. Then he took in a deep breath and let it out.

Then he was talking again,

"So," he clapped his hands once and rubbed them together vigorously, "you look like someone knocked you around some, Spidey. And by some, I mean a lot." he commented in a cheery voice as he again gave Peter a once over, only this time it was quick and cursory. Peter suddenly felt very self-conscious about the blood and bruises on his face and his sandy, sweat matted hair. He wanted to think of something clever and witty to say in response, but then the man was talking _again_ , "Also, is it super-hero laundry day? Because I'm pretty sure the last time I checked out your a-aaah, I mean," he laughed and choked a little and Peter frowned and glanced down at himself, very confused, "I **mean** , the last time I saw you swinging around, you were in some very fancy, shmancy spandex threads, you know, sans the goggles, hoodie, soccer socks and...are, are those aqua shoes?" he finished, sounding highly amused now.

Peter resisted the urge to shuffle his feet and look over himself again, even though he felt pretty lame in his homemade suit when compared to the Stark suit. He managed to say something this time though, and channeling some of the confidence he usually only felt in small bursts under the masks of his suits, he shrugged and gestured with his head and hands to the smoking, fire lit shoreline visible in the near distance,

"What can I say, I thought I'd wear the appropriate foot ware for the job." and his voice didn't even sound too worn out or nervous, which he was proud of!

And when the taller man did an oddly fitting cartoon triple take between Peter and the smoking beach before bursting out laughing, Peter couldn't help smiling a little at his own stupid joke, his head tipping forehead as he ducked his smile, making his messy hair fall over his forehead as he sniffed and tried to keep a straight face.

The man wheezed again then, and Peter looked up to find the man staring at him with wide white mask eyes, so he said,

"What?" feeling self-conscious again, and then nervous for having dropped his guard.

"What! What _what_? Nothing, n-nothing!" the man sputtered, mask's expressive eyes showing a renewed distressed frown, "You just smiled, and it's, it's, you're just..." he physically shook himself again, following up with a hard slap to his face, "...a teenager, he's a fucking teenager!" he snapped at himself and then in a very quiet whisper to the side he said, "Bad, _bad_ Deadpool. So gross."

Peter heard him though, heard every word, and with a slow blink and a dry throated swallow, pieces of the man's muttered curses from earlier clicked into place with what the man – Deadpool?- had just said, making understanding of the situation, of the man's distressing wheezes, begin to dawn on Peter. And what was that the man had _almost_ said about checking out his a-

There was a screeching of tires on asphalt in the nearby, which made Peter blink away what he'd been thinking, even as his cheeks -neck and ears too- reddened with a new awareness of the other man's issue with him being a teenager. Peter chanced a glance at the guy as his face burned, only to find the man now looking across the distance of the amusement park to where the tire screeching sound had come from. Peter looked as well and saw there was a cab parked there, just outside the entrance.

Then,

"Hey, DP!" a man with an Indian accent yelled cheerily as he hung out of the driver's side window of an NY cab, waving an arm.

The man -DP, so probably Deadpool- raised his arm, hand open, to the man and yelled back,

"Dopinder!" his voice still sounding strained as he closed his hand into a fist and then lowered his arm.

"Sorry I'm a little late, DP," Dopinder continued to shout into the quiet night of the park, "there was an incident, I almost shot myself with the gun you gav-…

"Okay! You crazy kid!" Deadpool laughed too loudly as he yelled over whatever worrying thing the cab driver had been about to say, and Peter could only frown as he watched the exchange, "Share time later, kay! I'll be right there, sit tight!" DP added.

Peter blinked away the strangeness of the moment at those last words because it occurred to him that Deadpool would be leaving soon, in a cab. And while he knew he should feel relieved to be getting away -hopefully unscathed- from someone who was -probably?- some kind of a villain, he couldn't help but feel sad about the fact that he'd have to sorely swing, walk and run home after Deadpool left in a cab.

"Okay!" Deadpool said loudly and Peter bodily flinched again at the suddenness of it, thinking back to Deadpool's comment about jumping spiders and hating how that lame joke felt so fitting right then. He was just beginning to step backwards to take his leave and start the long trek home, when Deadpool said,

"Put your mask on, Spidey." Peter stopped all movement in confusion of the instruction and he didn't even register the need to react as Deadpool approached him, walking right up to stand just a foot away,

"Dopinder is a sweet little drop of brown sugar and is about as dangerous as a cricket," the man kept talking as he leaned in close enough to snatch Peters mask from where it was sticking out of his pants pocket, "but I think you've had enough exposure for one evening," he adjusted the mask's opening in his hold and began to pull it down over Peter's head quite gingerly, "and it's definitely past the bed time of thirteen year olds." Deadpool added, and Peter finally snapped out of his confused, sluggishly reacting daze, because _thirteen_! Hell no, he did not look _thirteen_!

He abruptly pushed Deadpool's hands away from his head where the man had been doing a poor job of correctly setting the goggles over his eyes, and he did it himself hastily, wincing softly to himself as the material snagged at the dried blood and cuts on his face. Breathing accelerated and feeling alarmed and frustrated at how out of it he was to let a dangerous villain get so close into his personal space without reacting, Peter squared his shoulders, stuck his chin out, looked _up_ at the man and said the first thing that came to mind as he pointed a fingerless-gloved digit into the taller man's chest,

"I'm fifteen." he stated, and then promptly felt like an idiot for saying so, because really, how was that much better?

He was so done with this whole night.

Deadpool groaned loudly as if he was in pain, his head falling back as he muttered up toward the sky; ' _onlyfifteenfuckmylifewhy_ ' under his breath, confirming that what Peter had _thought_ was the problem, was indeed the problem. It made him blush again under his mask, an especially deeper blush now that they were standing so much closer and Peter could properly see how much broader, bigger built and taller than him Deadpool actually was.

The man was a whole head taller and some extra, dammit. Not even Mr. Stark towered over him like this. Peter didn't even know how to feel about this **man** being, well, attracted to him, or rather, to Spider- **Man** , who Deadpool had now just found out was actually not a man at all. He was probably really let down, Peter supposed. And he'd said _gross_ earlier, so that made Peter feel even worse, inadequate somehow. Deadpool had also said 'false advertising' in his rant, and it made Peter realize now that a lot of people would probably be severely underwhelmed to find out who was actually beneath the mask, for _whatever_ reason.

He was so lost in thought, exhaustion and some new self esteem issues really baring down on him, that he failed to react again when Deadpool was suddenly standing behind him at arms distance, his hands settled firmly on Peter's shoulders as he began to push Peter ahead in the direction of the park's entrance, to where the cab waited.

"Wha?" Peter tried to ask, attempting to glance over his shoulder at the man directing him to walk.

"Weren't you listening, Baby Boy?"

Baby what now?

"I said Dopinder will take you home," he clarified, and Peter frowned under his pinching, itching mask, wondering how he hadn't noticed the man having said that to him. Then again, the guy did talk _a lot_ , "you're all banged up, and considering where I usually see you swinging around, I'm guessing you're a fair ways from wherever you call home in the Big Apple. Also the police will be here soon to see about that burning plane you hitched a ride on to get here and it'd be best for everyone if no red suit wearing super people were in the general vicinity of any of the deaths that occurred on Coney Island this fine evening."

Wow, case in point much with the talking a lot thing.

They'd reached the cab by this point and Peter was a mess of tired confusion and numb resignation. And Deadpool's tone was so sure, and his hands so steadying and Peter's senses were all calm and not warning him against anything negative at all, so when Deadpool released his shoulders and opened the cab door for him, Peter followed through and got in.

He felt a flare of panic then, purely his own and not born of his senses, once he was inside because the space was so enclosed and he didn't know Dopinder and Deadpool and how could he be taken _home_ when where he lived was not supposed to be known by anyone!?

He tensed up, sitting rigid in the backseat and fully prepared to get out of the cab via the other door that Deadpool wasn't standing by, but then the man shut the door without getting in and moved away to lean by Dopinder's open window, where he spoke to Peter again,

"Dopinder will take you home, or to wherever you ask him to so that you can get home," and then he looked at Dopinder, "and this particular person was never in your cab, right buddy?" Peter couldn't help noticing how Deadpool's tone went from fun and friendly to just a hint of cold and foreboding.

"Absolutely DP, you're the only person in a fancy red suit that I've ever had the pleasure of transporting." Dopinder said cheerily, all smiles.

Peter was stunned by the earnest reply from the cab driver that came with zero hesitation, even in the face of what was technically kind of a threat, and Peter also noted the fond, slightly reverent tone of Dopinder's voice as he spoke to Deadpool, like the man was a super hero to him…

But Deadpool was a villain…wasn't he?

"That's why you're my favourite." Deadpool said in a cutesy whisper and honest to god _booped_ the cab driver on his nose with his gloved index finger.

Then Deadpool pushed his head through the window, totally crowding the cab driver back into the seat and probably squishing the man's face with part of his shoulder, in order to wave at Peter, wiggling the fingers of his hand not supporting his weight on the door as he said,

"Night, Baby Boy, don't let the bed bugs bite!" and then he pulled back somewhat, but paused almost out the window to add, "Unless they're spiders and it's like, a part of your whole schtick...wait, do spiders bite other spiders?" he looked at Dopinder up real close and Dopinder shrugged, looking confused, "Hm," Deapool looked at Peter again, "Well, whatever, no judgement."

Peter couldn't help mumbling,

"Spiders aren't bugs." but Deadpool had already pulled all the way out of the window and Dopinder was relaxing in his seat again, looking no worse for wear, like he was used to it, even as he casually wiped something thick and red off his cheek with his fingers.

Peter blinked.

"What about you, DP?" Dopinder asked.

"Don't worry about me, honey bunches," he pinched Dopinder's cheek, "Where there's a will, there's a Wade." he said, sounding like he was very amused and thought he was very wise.

"I don't understand what that means, but in you I trust, DP." he smiled up at Deadpool and the man responded like he was sending Dopinder out of a quest, with hand gestures to accompany his words,

"Go now, Dopinder, with all the strength and grace you surely don't have, but with your super power..." a physical cue was given and Dopinder whispered,

"Courage." with some conviction.

"Exactly." Deadpool humoured him, and then the roof of the cab was tapped twice to signal that they could go and Peter blinked again as the cab engine turned over and they lurched forward violently on acceleration.

It was a few long seconds that passed before he couldn't help it anymore, and he turned in the seat to look out through the back window, but he was surprised to find no one there, and so his eyes trailed to the still burning flames on the beach, and the flashing lights of police and ambulances down the stretch of the shoreline. He turned to sit properly and slid down low in the seat, feeling a weight settle in his stomach at the sight of the plane wreckage, along with all of his stress about Mr. Stark, the Vulture and Liz, washing over him all at once and weighing down on him so much that he just let his guard down, just for a moment, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Aside from asking where Peter wanted to be dropped off after they entered the city proper, Dopinder surprisingly didn't attempt to make any small talk with him, even when it was clear Peter was having a hard time staying awake. Peter had to wonder if the lack of talking was because the cab driver was taking what Deadpool had said about not acknowledging who he was transporting seriously.

Either way, Peter had to break the silence near the end of the journey, when he was close to being dropped off a few blocks from where he lived and he remembered he had no money to pay for the cab ride, and he hadn't seen Deadpool give Dopinder any money. And _why_ was it only occurring to him right then? Why hadn't he been more concerned about Deadpool paying for a cab for him in the first place? Even though now, it didn't seem the cab was paid for. Mr. Stark would kill him if the man knew how careless and ditsy Peter had been all night, post fighting the Vulture...and maybe while fighting the Vulture too, just a little. Ugh.

Dead, Mr. Stark would kill him dead.

"I- I don't have any money on me," he started, voice uncertain and nervous, sounding too loud in the quiet cab as a small amount of panic set in over not being able to pay for what was surely an expensive trip, "I'll have to, uh-…"

"Do not worry yourself, Friend of DP," and yes, it was capitalized in Peter's mind because Dopinder said it like it was an honorary title of some sort, "the trip is free of charge." he added, only just glancing back at Peter via the rearview mirror.

All Peter could do was slump back into the seat again, mumbling out a ' _thank you'_ as he stared at his dirty gloves and fingertips in his lap. It was just as well really, it's not like he had _any_ ideas of how he would have paid Dopinder for the trip…

But then, in reality, he was pretty sure it was Deadpool he owed, not Dopinder.

* * *

Hours later, after Peter had snuck inside through his bedroom window without waking May, had texted Ned to say he was alive and well, had showered and cleaned up his already slowly healing cuts and bruises, and was lying in his bottom bunk, very ready to fall asleep, to let his exhaustion take a hold of him, he just couldn't get his mind to rest.

So many things had happened that night, and while one would think his fight with the Vulture and his victory at saving as much of the Stark tech as possible was what he was thinking about, it wasn't.

No, Peter was thinking about his encounter with Deadpool.

He now knew the man's super name, and possibly his first name too, because 'Where there's a will, there's a Wade' could only be interpreted so many ways, and Wade was so obviously a name.

So Deadpool's real name was probably Wade. And many things had happened that night with Deadpool that had Peter confused and worried, to the point where, now that he was comfortable and safe and slightly more clear headed, he was cataloging everything he'd seen but had not properly noticed at the time when it was happening.

Like, when Deadpool had approached him and stood close enough that Peter had noticed their size difference, at the time and after, he'd seen but had not acknowledged several _other_ things, such as the fact that Deadpool had smelled like raw iron to his enhanced senses, and that Deadpool had mentioned there being 'deaths' on Coney Island that night, as well as the fact that Dopinder had wiped blood off his cheek from where Wade's -incidentally blood red suit- had touched his face.

All in all, those signs all pointed very clearly to the fact that Deadpool had been on Coney Island for some kind of killing spree, probably not unlike the one he'd caused on the Expressway a year prior.

So, in conclusion, Deadpool was definitely a killer. A killer who now knew Peter's face.

And there was also the fact that Peter hadn't even _considered_ trying to subdue him, even though Peter knew he was a killer. Hell, Peter hadn't even wanted to fight him, and not just because he'd been tired and sore, but also because he hadn't sensed any danger from Deadpool, not even a tiny hint. Everything about Deadpool had disarmed him, made him want to drop his guard. Sure, the man had been alarmed to find out his age, and had apparently felt awful about whatever non-platonic interest he felt for Spider-Man before finding out he wasn't a man yet. But his demeanor had been harmless and friendly the entire time, and Deadpool had proceeded to help him, to send him home safely, to foot the bill, and all the while, without even any danger or expectations directed at Peter.

The whole thing left Peter feeling conflicted and confused and uncertain. He had no idea if he should be worried about Deadpool finding out his name and address, or interfering in his life, trying to hurt May, or his friends, or Mr. Stark, because for some reason he just didn't feel like he needed to be worried. And that was bogus, right?! Deadpool should have sent his spider-sense into a tizzy, the man was dangerous! And yet...

Yep, Mr. Stark would be so angry about all this.

Peter blinked sleepily as he thought about Mr. Stark, who was Iron Man and didn't need Peter to be worrying about his safety. With that thought he decided right then that Mr. Stark was well connected and well protected and all that, and Peter figured it was probably a good idea to ask him about Deadpool. He'd probably know something.

Taking in a deep breath, Peter rolled off his back onto his side, finally ready to go to sleep now that he'd decided to talk to Mr Stark about it. He would not, however, be telling Mr. Stark about his interaction with Deadpool, and especially not about the fact that Deadpool had seen his face.

Nope, no. That was not going to come up.

No one else needed to know about that, ever, and he just hoped that despite Deadpool knowing, no one else would.

* * *

He had intended to bring Deadpool up with Mr. Stark the next day, or the day after that, or after that, but like, he wanted to wait for when the man was no longer annoyed about all of his screw ups and they could talk about Peter maybe getting his suit back. The thing was though, that he didn't expect that to happen too soon, after all, Mr. Stark was a busy guy and it figured to Peter that it'd take the man a while to get around to talking to him, especially after everything that had happened with the Vulture and the interrupted move upstate.

So to say that Peter was surprised when Happy showed up at his school to take him to the new Avengers compound to see Mr. Stark, would be an understatement. No, he was more like super stunned, and super excited and super nervous _and_ feeling super worried about possibly facing another lecture, despite Happy seeming so upbeat on the drive there.

In the end, after he'd seen Mr. Stark and there had been talk of a press conference, of Spider-man being announced as an _Avenger_ , seeing that incredible new suit and then making the oh-so-hard decision to heed the uncertainty churning in his gut and listening to all of Tony's previous advice about just staying on the ground to help the 'little people', then declining the offer and choosing to stay the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, after **all** that, any and all thoughts about Deadpool were buried beneath everything else.

And since, in the days that had passed since the Coney Island incident, Peter hadn't been given any reason to think Deadpool was looking for him, or was after him or anything like that, he'd kind of let himself relax about the whole thing. Instead of worrying about something that his inbuilt warning system wasn't concerned about, he just let himself take in the general din of life every day, which included dealing with the aftermath of the Vulture's identity being revealed and any chance of a relationship with Liz being crushed by her moving away. And then at night he focused on the importance of patrol and stopping crime. But he no longer had to worry about sneaking around though, because on top of everything, May had found out he was Spider-Man, and wow, that was just a whole 'nother can of worms.

So, the incident of meeting Deadpool - a _maybe_ villain who'd actually helped him out- just failed to make the list of important things for Peter to focus on. He subconsciously, on and off, thought about it coming back to bite him in the ass, so he spent some patrols -back in his proper Stark issued suit- a little on edge on nights when he felt particularly high strung, waiting for something _extra_ to happen, but it just didn't. And as time passed quite fast, more and more, the way it tended to when there was a lot going on, with no incidents or even any mentioning of Deadpool in the streets or on the news, Peter eventually forgot all about it, completely.

He figured it didn't matter after the first few seamless weeks that went by, and then was proved right when months and months went by without even a peep about the tall, dangerous and strange Deadpool. So Peter just forgot about it. Forgot about him.

His life was filled with Spider-Man duties and teenage issues, the latter being so much more difficult to navigate, what with turning sixteen and feeling just a bit less like a kid. He also had to manage May's paranoia about his patrols and her weird fussing over him being Spider-Man, not because she was against him being Spider-man, nope, it was instead because she was constantly encouraging him to be the best super hero he could be! Not at all what he'd expected from her, talk about a plot twist.

He was also making sure that he was excelling at school now that he had the 'Stark Internship' back, trying to remember to play the non-confrontational Peter Parker whenever Flash looked in his general direction to say something insulting. And then of course there were his teen hormones and a rapidly developing crush on MJ which was majorly distracting.

Life almost felt normal for a while there.

Of course that couldn't last, because _aliens_ coming to NY had become an almost regular thing at some point.

Honestly, Peter had been excited and totally psyched to finally get to help the Avengers with a mission, a real mission, and he got to go into outer space, wearing the Iron Spider suit no less! It had seemed like a dream come true. But in the end, turning to dust without explanation and then returning to the world of the living, not to mention to a full on **war** a whole **five** years later, when he hadn't aged even a day, was no joyride at all.

And then, watching Tony Stark die…


	2. It's hard to walk through all the places that your life used to be in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who has read the Deadpool comics will recognize how am adapting Deadpool's comic-self into the story and mixing it with movie Deadpool's story. But it should still be pretty clearly DP even if you haven't read his comics.
> 
> NB: Not beta read, all errors are mine.

__

* * *

_...so you thought you'd shed a layer, maybe try on some new skin._

* * *

Deadpool hadn't blipped.

It wasn't even that he'd turned to dust and then somehow fucking regenerated, no, he just hadn't blipped at all. Thanos, that motherfucker, his little universal spring cleaning trick had skipped over Wade entirely. And having not blipped, meant Wade had spent the following five -horrible, isolated, maddening- years in a half empty world wishing desperately that he had, wishing that just _once_ the universe hadn't royally fucked him over and left him out, left him behind to suffer.

Wade had wanted to die plenty of times, like, so many times he'd lost count. After he'd lost Vanessa he'd tried to kill himself in many fun and creative ways, and after he'd gotten over that, he'd often let himself get injured to the point it should have killed him just to keep things interesting and see what would happen, but he'd never, ever been able to die in that nice permanent way that other folks did. And then the snap happened...the snap that could have finally killed him, once and for all, but **nope** , not him, never him. He could never get what he wanted, not one single time, something would always go wrong.

And so he'd been left behind again… except this time it was worse, because he'd been _complete_ _ly_ alone.

It wasn't like after losing Vanessa, where he'd still had some people. No...there'd been no one.

By some twist of the fuckiest, shittest, crappiest luck _ever_ , _everyone_ close to him had been snapped away.

Weasel, Domino, Al, Dopinder, Russel, Colossus, Negasonic and even cutie patootie Yukio...all fucking gone. And Cable had long since returned to his future after his time travel doohickey had been fixed up, but with his luck, Wade was sure that had Cable still been around, he'd have somehow blipped too.

And you know what, Wade wasn't even sure the snap would have worked on him, because blipping had been _dying_ as far as he knew, and having blown himself to pieces that one time in order to die, only to come back to life in the process of regenerating -which hurt like a bitch bee tee dubs-, Wade was fully aware of the fact that fuckbag Francis had been right; if there wasn't enough of him left to grow back parts, then parts grew him back. So would turning to dust have been permanent? Would any of those teeny tiny dust particles somehow have just regenerated him? He had no idea, **but** he would like to have had the opportunity to find the fuck out at least. I mean, come on, give a guy a fucking chance to die!

Because the alternative of that, what he'd been left with, had been enough to send him spiraling into dark places that even being tortured for months in a dark cliché villain-esque underground lab hadn't achieved.

See, the thing is, there were a few things that no one knew, or maybe just didn't care to consider, about Deadpool, about what it was like _being_ Deadpool, being in his mutated body...things that even Vanessa had never known because she'd never asked and Wade had never found himself wanting to tell her or explain to her.

For one, he still had fucking cancer, it just couldn't kill him anymore, and also it was far less aggressive than it had been back when he'd still been pretty and dying, but only because his healing factor kept it on a leash. Despite his healing factor however, having cancer still hurt like balls, and it didn't _ever_ stop hurting.

Wade had always had a high threshold for pain at least, and so when he'd acquired his healing factor, the perpetual pain of having undying cancer in spades just all-fucking-over, coupled with his rapid regeneration, had gone a long way to increasing his already high pain threshold, building up a sort of natural pain block in his brain. Which ultimately meant that wounds, no matter how extreme or severe, didn't affect him in quite the same way it would other people.

So, when he got stabbed in vital organs, riddled with bullets, lost whole limbs, was blown up or ripped in half by massive -scarily awesome- mutants like Juggernaut, he could usually still remain conscious most of the time. And yeah sometimes he'd pass out when his pain receptors were too overloaded, but whenever he actually 'died' he'd come back pretty quick. On the surface, it would usually seem more like he had a few aches and pains instead of having lost limbs or having multiple bullet wounds or massive internal hemorrhaging. And yeah, medication helped too…and drugs, drugs were good, even though they didn't last long.

But all that led up to his second point, see, because at the same time as none of the people who knew him where aware that he was always in pain on some level, due to the way he handled pain, they also seemed to have formed the opinion that he just didn't feel, or barely felt, physical wounds.

But that... _that_ was just not fucking true.

And sure, going slightly nuts had been beneficial in the way that Wade had been forced to learn how to compartmentalize like a pro, all so that he could still make fun of fucking Francis and his manly lady friend while the motherfucking super son of a bitch was torturing him for shits and giggles and science. But as great as compartmentalization was, there first needed to be things for him to compartmentalize in order for him to keep the really dark, really festering, fucked up, awful, broken and twisted mental, emotional and physical feelings and pains that he lived with at bay.

And when the snap happened, when the people Wade prioritized as ' _reasons to pretend to be okay_ ' all disappeared, and half of the rest of the world went with them, when everything from the bustle of people, the stock markets, the noise and congestion of traffic, shops, vendors, the sheltered and homeless people, the bad TV shows and pop music, the criminals, the super heroes...when all of it just became _less_ , there had been no escape from it. There'd been nothing to compartmentalize, nothing to distract Wade from his already empty existence, especially not when after the snap it became a vacuous black hole that nothing, not even light, could escape from. Everything was just gone, just like that, a void, and he was left with nothing but memories and pain.

Even the fucking climate of the world changed when the population was halved, which made sense scientifically and all, but _shit_. It had really driven the point home.

And it all kind of sent him over the edge...okay, not kind of. Truth is, it **fucked** him up.

Everything had started to hurt, the ways in which he'd managed to mentally block pain before the snap just failed to work for him anymore, and so every day had been _pain_ _painpain_ and it had started to make him feel literally crazy. Unfortunately for what was left of the human race, one of the things he'd found that helped him combat his own pain, was the pain of others. Because their screams of pain made him feel better about his own screams of pain.

* * *

Wade spent five years learning that within him existed a level of sadism, cruelty and viciousness that was far more disturbing and intense than it had previously seemed when he'd been masking it with fake humor and fake friends.

In those five years, the pain was ever present and his humorous side -when it made an appearance- was more twisted for insult to injury than it was for comedy relief, because the punchline to _every single_ joke was the life of whatever sorry motherfucker turned up on the list at Hellhouse.

Hellhouse being the new name of Sister Margaret's.

In Weasel's wake had come a short, old man named Bob Stirrat, who was known amongst mercs as Patch. He'd taken over and renamed the bar, picked up what was left of the business after so many NY mercs blipped out, but in under a year he'd built the business back up. And Wade took every job he could get his hands on and bullets or katanas into.

The fact that there were still criminals left behind after the snap was just fuel to the fire of his misery, and he made it a personal mission to take them all off the map, because they didn't _deserve_ to still be there when so many others were gone. Wade didn't think that _he_ deserved to be left behind either, but there was nothing for it. He was stuck alive, probably forever, and everyone he'd ever given even a remote shit about was gone and nothing served better as a temporary balm for the pain like spilling the blood of baddies still walking around like they had any right to.

That reasoning was not only his though, and Wade found he wasn't surprised to occasionally see Hawkeye picking up jobs too. They never did more than acknowledge one another with a glance and they never spoke more than a few empty, cursory words to one another over a beer at the bar. And whether or not Hawkeye knew that they had similar motivations for doing what they were doing, they never got in one another's way.

Wade had no idea just what Hawkeye had lost, Wade had no idea what specifically anyone had lost, he just knew that everywhere he went, _loss_ was like a tangible thing, hanging heavy in the air.

Wade also didn't know how everyone else was coping, what they did when they went home at the end of the day, whether people were picking themselves up and moving on or drinking themselves a little closer to liver failure with each passing day…

...all he knew was that he'd talked to himself a lot in those five years; bad conversations, good conversations, hateful, bitter, self loathing, spiteful, deranged conversations. He'd lived in squalor because he couldn't be bothered to clean up even a little, just moved from place to place when the apartment or basement or warehouse he was in became entirely unlivable. He ate only every few days because hunger pangs didn't even make the top ten list of pains he was in and it couldn't actually kill him anyway. He lived without mirrors and almost never took off his mask and when night fell and the world was so much quieter with half the city's population gone, there was less need for light and some stars could be seen in the inky sky, it was so pretty and ironically peaceful.

But sleep never came for Wade.

The only 'rest' he ever got came after he'd put a bullet in his brain.

* * *

And then one day the Avengers – what was left of them- suddenly got off their asses and _did_ something.

* * *

Wade had been regenerating from a gunshot nap at the time when it happened.

He'd woken up with a confused start when _noisenoisenoise_ penetrated his half dead sleep. The hole in his head had still been healing, blood and brains still dripping down the wall behind his chair, some dried on his skin, and the fucking **pain**. Jesus Christ. Not yet, not yet, it had been too soon to be conscious yet, but because there had been so much fucking noise all of a sudden he'd woken up sooner than usual.

Wade had looked around blearily, head spinning and pain receptors screaming at him, thinking that it was like the world had been on mute one moment and then the volume was suddenly turned all the way up...

And after he'd picked up one of his guns and stumbled over to the window of his fifth floor apartment, looking out to see where the noise was coming from, he'd seen _people_ , people everywhere in the streets. People where cars would have been parked or in the process of driving, and on the curb sides, and behind the windows of closed down shops and in the windows of the building across from his own apartment building.

They'd all looked like they were panicking and confused and Wade...Wade had started to internally panic, too.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to have done!?

In the next moment he'd barely refrained from shooting the couple who'd suddenly appeared on the floor of his apartment, where maybe a sofa had once been. He'd only just managed to stop himself from pulling the trigger because they'd looked so pitifully confused, and then terrified when they'd seen his ugly, bleeding face. They'd screamed then, but their screams weren't like the ones of criminals dying, those kinds of screams calmed him. No, the couple's screams were like they'd just woken up from a horrible nightmare, only to find another nightmare, in the form of a strange, scarred, armed man, in _their_ apartment.

It had been too much for him to deal with at the time, confused, still healing raw and feeling a little manic, and even though he'd known it was wrong, he'd threatened them at gunpoint to get out of the apartment. They hadn't hesitated and after they'd fucked off he'd locked the door, closed all the windows to block out the influx of sound from everywhere and he'd just sat cross-legged on the floor of his messy bedroom, covered his ears with his hands and rocked back and forth telling himself he wasn't crazy for what could have been hours...before he'd given in with tears in his eyes and shot himself in the head again.

* * *

A part of him had been so sure he'd been dreaming, or having a nightmare of his own, maybe even a hallucination, as if maybe he'd finally, really and truly lost his absolute fucking mind.

But when he'd woken up from regeneration in the early morning of that same day, with a splitting headache and the usual pain everywhere like it always was, making his nerves raw and putting him in a very bad mood, he'd turned on the TV and discovered it had not been a dream or a nightmare.

The Avengers had done it again, they'd saved the world...no actually, the universe.

The population was back.

A second invasion had been thwarted.

Thanos was properly dead.

Tony Stark was dead.

And it was all very, very real.

* * *

You'd think that would have made it okay again, even just a little.

But no, Wade had already lost too much of himself in five years, and the sudden come back of _everyone_ _?_ It only made him feel crazier.

* * *

He felt more lost in the world than when he'd come back from Weapon X.

He felt more lost than after everyone had disappeared.

Because, see, when he walked down the formerly empty streets of the past five years, it was unsettling to see that all of the people who had come back from the snap were just 'going back to normal'. The shops were being cleaned up to be reopened, people were walking around like nothing had changed, moving into the empty apartment's in the buildings, new vendors were setting up, even a few more cars were on the roads...but it was all bullshit, because under the surface everything was different and wrong, at least for Wade it felt that way.

How could anyone just go back to normal?

But they _were._ People were everywhere, putting their lives back together, getting in touch with other people and family from before the snap. They were all finding family members who had once been younger were now older, finding new brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, adopted family members and new pets and just _accepting_ that shit like it was a-o-fucking-kay.

People were smiling somehow even after everything, they were happy...and yeah, he could figure they had a reason to be. But Wade wasn't happy.

Wade hadn't aged, he'd stopped aging after his mutation. So for him it felt like there was no proof in his life or in his body to show that the past five years had really happened, aside from the fact that he had lived almost like a fucking hermit slash hobo and had spent far too long being his own company for it to be healthy. But that was it. In the past five years he hadn't made any new acquaintances or 'friends', he hadn't become familiar anywhere or with anyone, not even for sex. Hell, prior to the snap it'd been real difficult to find a prostitute who would accept his money for sex, and post the snap, when half the population had still been gone, it'd been impossible. He'd stopped trying in the first year. So, it'd just been him. Him and him and him.

Now everyone was back and he had nothing to show for it, zip, nada, and to make matters worse, walking down streets that should have felt familiar and comfortable just seemed to feel alien to him. Even masked and covered up in layers of jeans, boots and a hoodie, he felt out of place.

And _b_ _umping_ into people on now _crowded_ streets made his skin crawl so bad, and it took a few times for him to realize it, but Wade eventually acknowledged, with some shock, that he hadn't been touched normally by anyone, even just by being bumped into, in over four years.

It was horrible to realize it.

It was all so fucking horrible.

And Wade wasn't able to cope. So he went dark.

* * *

Wade decided to be just Wade for a year.

He buried Deadpool for a while in order to get his shit straight and decided to spend at least twelve months trying to find a balance between who he had been and who he was presently, because they were two very different people.

It started with him finding a new apartment, ten stories off the ground, bought in cash and furnished quickly so he could start to settle in. He resolved not to let it go to shit either, so he lived in his new apartment like he'd lived a long time ago, back when he'd been 'normal', before and just after he'd become Deadpool, when he'd been with Vanessa. He kept the place clean enough, didn't put bullet, stab holes in the walls, and he didn't let rats and roaches move in. He paid all the utilities on time and glared at all of his neighbours so they'd know to keep their distance.

He didn't go outside though, except for walks and exercise in the dead of night or twilight hours. He had enough money from his mercenary work to easily live without working, so he did. He did all of his shopping online, which had become much more efficient since the world was back online again. He bought proper groceries and he ate properly -not necessarily healthily- but properly, taking full advantage of the many Mexican food places that were around, old and new.

He started maintaining his hygiene again too, and he discovered just how much he'd missed showering regularly, wearing clean clothes, and having clean teeth. And now that he was taking care of those things again, he realized just how far gone he'd been that he'd let himself become so disgusting in the first place. He counted himself lucky for his healing factor in that he couldn't even so much as get sick or get cavities from poor hygiene, or he'd have been regretting the last five years on a whole new level.

He paid all his bills and bought clothes and other things online, too, and kept up to date with the latest news online and through television. There was a lot to keep up with since the world was building half the population back up. So much was happening.

He watched it all either feeling nothing or feeling anxious, but one thing, in fact the only thing, in the news Wade found himself smiling about, was that Spider-Man was back and protecting NY again. That was great. The kid had been snapped away with so many other heroes, to see him back was worth smiling about.

Seeing Spider-Man made Wade think of Dopinder though, and by extension, everyone else he'd known, or he knew rather. But Wade would not go anywhere near Hellhouse, not in the year he was taking for himself , and he'd purchased his apartment with one of his fake ID's in order to stay off the grid. He knew Weasel -at the very least- would try to look for him, and he wasn't interested in being found. Not yet.

He wasn't the same anymore, and not just on the outside like before, he was all fucked up inside now too. So he wasn't ready, he could feel it. And when he finally stepped out into the world again, he wanted to be ready. He wanted to be able to compartmentalize again.

So, his allocated twelve months would be dedicated to re-acclimating to the world being back to 'normal'.

* * *

But after a little more than a year, when he finally re-emerged into the world proper, he did so as Wade the first few times and found out that he'd been wrong. Five years of a missing population had come and passed, yes, but while he'd thought it would be different, in the end nothing had changed, even after being 'dead' for five years, people hadn't changed at all.

Because when he walked down the street in his hoodie, jeans and boots, people still gave him a wide berth or stared at him like he was an eyesore. Some made unsubtle faces of disgust or snickered, and a kid even started crying one time.

So, no, he'd changed...but nothing else had.

Still though, after a long year, he'd sort of pieced himself back together as much as he could. He'd roughly filled in most of the cracks and fractures in his body and mind from being so broken for so long, and he'd started to manage his pain again, he'd even started to make jokes – to himself- that were still inappropriate but not quite so dark anymore.

He still hated mirrors, but he had one in his apartment, just for glances to make sure he appeared at least mostly human and put together, even if it was only half true, half the time.

So, even though he struggled with himself now after six years, more than he'd ever done before.

Even though the second locked bedroom in his apartment, furnished with only a big comfortable recliner, a small side table and a suppressed Glock 17, served as his own personal suicide retreat.

Even though he felt manic under the surface of his forced 'normal' Wade persona.

Even though he wasn't okay, he looked like he was.

On the surface he seemed mostly how he had been before the snap, the only difference being that it was just way, way worse and ten times more difficult to maintain.

But Wade wouldn't give up, only because he literally couldn't die, so it wasn't even an option.

* * *

So, after facing the world maskless and finding himself still a nightmare for other people to witness, it was the easiest thing he could ever have done to slip back into his spandex, leather and kevlar, and just **be** Deadpool.

After all, being Deadpool was the only thing that _wasn't_ a struggle for him. Polishing and sharpening up his weapons, strapping them on, concealing several more on his person; it all came so naturally.

Also, he looked hot as fuck in his suit.

And yeah, no, he wasn't the same and he wasn't okay, Wade wasn't okay, Deadpool wasn't okay, nothing for him was ever _really_ okay. But the world seemed okay, or at least was apparently mostly unchanged, and Deadpool was still Deadpool. He was still a mercenary, a fucking excellent mercenary, and there were _always_ assholes who needed to be introduced to Bea and Arthur.

For that reason, one late evening on a Fall night, **Deadpool** stepped out into the world, hailed a random cab and made his way to Hellhouse.

* * *

Wade found that he was not at all surprised to see Weasel show up at Hellhouse looking for him a week after he was officially back in the merc business.

He'd just returned from a job to collect his money and there was Weasel, waiting to see him.

Wade was also not surprised to find that he didn't have much to say to Weasel, at least nothing besides sarcastic comments and a joke at Weasel's expense here and there. He amused himself that way in between the other man's bitching and complaining about losing Sister Margaret's _and_ his apartment _and_ all other money and assets he'd owned.

Weasel also glared at Patch through his thick glasses every chance he got while drinking alcohol on Wade's tab and saying how much he despised what the man had done to his bar.

And yeah, okay, Wade didn't like Patch either, he reminded him too much of a living-breathing garden gnome, and Wade had often wanted to shoot him, but as far as the bar went, nothing much had changed about the appearance of the place during Patch's tenor, except for it being more brightly lit and the toilets being dirtier.

During their 'conversation', Weasel had attempted to find out what Wade had been doing for the past six years, and Wade had said a lot of words about a lot of things, but he hadn't actually answered any of Weasel's question properly and they both knew it. However it took Wade flat out telling Weasel to 'drop it', in a tone of voice Weasel was unfamiliar with and was sufficiently intimidated by, to eventually cease all questioning.

Then, in order to clear the sudden unease he'd invoked in his long time buddy, Wade had slapped Weasel on the back hard enough to hurt and proceeded to offer Weasel a job as his handler, since he was so very unemployed and Wade was still so very wealthy.

Needless to say, Weasel had accepted, even though it had stuck in his throat to accept working _for_ Wade when once upon a blip he'd been his own boss.

And would you look at that, something's had changed in the end.

* * *

Word eventually reached Domino that Wade was around and a few weeks later she showed up at Hellhouse as well. Turned out she was an X-person now, not even in training, nope, she was a fully accredited and accepted member of the X-Men.

Wade had thought he'd feel jealous about that, but he'd actually just felt annoyed when thinking about what hypocritical and discriminative assholes the X-men were and had always been. Dom's news actually helped him to realize that he had no actual interest in seeing any of the X-Men he'd known again any time soon, let alone becoming one. So, he wasn't a mutant and they'd never really wanted him, not the big shots of the X-men at least. Well fuck 'em. Colossus and Negasonic were better off staying out his life anyway.

After six years and all the shit he'd been through, he was about as interested in them as he was in the Avengers, he felt like they would just make his already shitty life even worse and he would probably do the same for them. He mostly felt the same about Blind Al, he had no interest in reinserting himself into her life. During his re-acclimation period he'd looked her up, and then he'd broken into her temporary blip lodgings one night and left a duffle bag full of cash where she'd find it -i.e: trip over it- and that had been that. She was a good person – in her own drug using, foul mouthed granny way- and he didn't want to be a burden to her anymore. By that point he was used to being alone anyway, there was no need for a roommate.

He was genuinely happy that Domino was doing well at least. He really liked her, always had from the first time her lucky ass signed up for the X-force team. She was a good person too and **that** really counted in his book.

Good people were the people that deserved to live in the world. Everyone else was optional.

So he'd congratulated slash made fun of her for being an X-Woman in an X-Man world and he'd bought her a drink. Weasel had congratulated her too, although Wade was 122% sure the four eyed bastard had been grinding his teeth before and after the words left his throat.

Wade had found it very amusing to watch Weasel seethe.

When they'd parted ways for the night, Weasel skulking off to his newly acquired apartment -since Wade had paid him a decent advance so the man would stop whining about sleeping in a hostel-, Wade hadn't been prepared for Dom telling him she was glad to have seen him again, right before she'd _hugged_ him.

It had been intensely awkward, because Wade didn't hug her back and he had been as stiff as a board, bent down to accommodate her arms around his neck while not otherwise touching her in any way. Considering Wade had used to flirt with her now and then and had once slapped her ass right before she'd punched him in the balls, his reaction to her hug was unexpected…for both of them.

After six years of not having been touched in anyway whatsoever beyond the barest of unavoidable human contact out in the world -and even that had been scarce – being hugged made his skin beneath his suit crawl in both a good and bad way. As if he wanted more contact but at the same time didn't want anyone touching him.

When Domino had removed her arms and had stepped back after the very awkward moment, she'd frowned while smiling and had apologized to him in a skeptical way, because neither of them had understood his adverse reaction to a simple hug. Wade had tried to laugh it off, claiming that he was self conscious of smelling bad, but they'd both known it was a bullshit excuse. Because while he had been in one of his Deadpool suits, he had come to Hellhouse straight from home, freshly showered and his suit was clean; they'd both been able to smell the cologne on him.

She'd shrugged it off though and had bid him a smiling goodnight.

Wade had gone home, changed into some sweats and a wife beater, he'd eaten a bag of potato chips while watching the Cartoon Network, and when his mind still hadn't quieted from all of his racing and conflicting thoughts and feelings, he'd gone to his second bedroom and locked himself in.

* * *

It was rare that it happened, but one very normal Wednesday as Wade was walking down a busy street in his usual hoodie/jeans/boots combo with his hood up, carrying a few grocery bags and a new unicorn plushie, that somewhat diverted the attention of the people he passed from staring his face, he looked up and saw Spider-Man swing by overhead.

The red and blue suited superhero came at high speed from around a corner up ahead, the backdrop of traffic and skyscrapers not doing anything to detract from his lean, lithe, _tight_ little body in that form fitting, and very much new and sexy, suit. And Wade had watched with a smile as he'd swooped low on his web, just above the roofs of all the traffic and then he'd arched high and shot another web out as he went by.

Some people who noticed shouted greetings up to him, to which the sweet little peach actually responded with enthusiasm and a friendly shout of 'hey guys'. Most of the other New Yorker's didn't care though, and Wade couldn't blame them. NY was like weird-shit and super hero central after all.

He personally took a moment though, to watch Spider-Man careen by, appreciating to the full extent the sight of the sexy super hero in all that tight spandex, knowing just what a cutie he probably still was underneath that mask and suit, even now that he was older. Especially now that he was older. And that new suit he was wearing, Wade noted with a quiet hum to himself, did wonders for showing off that perfect ass far better than the red pajama pants he'd been wearing the night they'd first met on Coney Island.

Yeah, it was rare that it happened, but whenever Wade saw Spider-Man swinging around, his day seemed a little better for it. He walked the rest of the way home with a smile on his face.

* * *

It didn't take long for the two people from Wade's past, who had re-entered his life of their own accord, to start distancing themselves from him as much as they could. It was easier for Domino since she didn't work for Wade and didn't need to hang around Hellhouse, but Weasel eventually started to withdraw from him too.

Wade wasn't surprised by it, especially since he'd known all along that the things that were different about him since the blip would eventually come to the surface.

He had a good handle on things, but even he slipped up on bad days.

The first thing he'd done that had caused an immediate sense of unease in both Dom and Weasel when they were around him, happened on one night almost six months after they'd all become reacquainted. They'd been having drinks at Hellhouse together, Weasel and Dom had been there, and Negasonic too, since she was now both old enough and not old enough to drink after the blip. She'd opted to be old enough for the night, however and she'd tagged along when Dom had invited her.

At some point during drinks, Dom and Weasel had both pointed out that they never saw Wade without his mask completely off anymore. Wade, making a self-deprecating joke as he usually would, had pointed out that no one wanted to see that, and he'd flashed a scarred, white toothed smile at the three of them. He'd been about to take a sip of his beer afterward when another merc near the bar had commented loudly enough to hear, that yes, Wade was right, his ugly mug was not something anyone wanted to see.

Promptly and without looking away from the table and his companions, he'd unclipped his thigh holster, withdrawn his Desert Eagle, turned off the safety and had aimed off to the bar where the voice had come from before firing a shot. It had been a perfect head shot, as Wade had intended, and it had been loud and jarring enough, that despite almost everyone in the bar being used to the sound of gunfire, a few people gasped and shouted in alarm. Everyone stopped to stare, looking from Deadpool to the dead merc, but the music just continued to play, even as the unknown merc's body slumped into the bar and then down onto the floor, bleeding out.

It only took a moment longer, as Wade reholstered his weapon and sipped his beer, before everyone had gone back to what they were doing, albeit a little more warily than before. But truthfully, even though it had been a while, they were not unused to Wade's actions, a lot of the people in the bar knew he was trigger happy and that he had killed more than a few dickhead mercs over the years for pretty trivial shit.

There was no deadpool board hanging up in the bar anymore, not since Patch took over and did away with it. So these days, when someone died in Hellhouse, it was not because someone wanted to collect money, it was just because someone wanted to kill them, and it was far from the first time Wade had killed someone in Hellhouse just for annoying him.

But it had been the first time he'd done it in front of Weasel and Dom.

Patch could be heard cursing about Deadpool being a loose canon as Wade had finished off his beer.

Negasonic had stared at him with wide eyes and an incredulous scowl on her face for almost a full minute before she'd gotten up and walked toward the exit. Wade had wiggled his gloved fingers in a wave as he'd bid her a 'not so teen-angst filled evening' and she hadn't even deigned to give him the finger. He'd immediately known he wouldn't be seeing her again. And that was for the best, because she was a good person and he was not. She needed to stay the fuck away from him.

Weasel, who had gulped noticeably a few times, downed the rest of his drink in one long swig and kept his eyes down on the tabletop. And Dom said she had to go after Negasonic, so she had left a minute later, but not without giving Wade a raised brow look of 'what the actual fuck'.

They'd only been so shocked because they'd all known Wade in the past to take insults about his appearance with a pinch of salt, but that was the past, and Wade didn't tolerate that shit so easily these days.

* * *

The second incident that caused a more permanent rift between himself, Dom and Weasel, and more clearly affirmed that Wade no longer accepted random insults about his appearance, came over a month later.

They were at Weasel's place that time. Wade had taken on a quick job that day and Dom had tagged along since there was no killing required. It had only required as much discretion as possible to obtain some expensive information, and Dom was better at discretion than Wade was so she'd come in handy.

The job had been mostly successful in the end, and afterward they'd both gone to Weasel's place because as Deadpool's handler, he was now the middleman for Wade and he would be the one to pay up on behalf of the client.

But from the moment they arrived, Weasel had been complaining non-stop about how Wade had shot up the place and that there were a few mafia casualties and about how it was not what the client wanted. Domino shrugged and half-heartedly explained that things had gotten a little complicated so a gun fight hadn't been entirely unavoidable, which was almost but not quite true, since he could have killed them without guns.

But who gave a fuck anyway?

Wade, who had taken five bullet wounds too many that night, because it was hard to dodge machine gun fire, was already pretty annoyed and just wanted to get his money, go home, shower, eat and take a lead-nap.

So being as he was so on edge, when he told Weasel to just shut up and give him his money, Weasel made the bad decision to revert back to their old dynamic. He started spitting out words about how he should take a cut off of Wade's pay for the grief the client had given him and then he followed it up with a comment about Wade's appearance.

Wade honestly didn't even remember exactly what Weasel said, but it triggered the side of him he valiantly repressed on a daily basis, and in a quick and precise movement he grabbed Weasel by his greasy blonde hair and shoved him face first down onto the kitchen table they were standing around, sending the money piles fluttering and a half empty coffee cup falling to the floor with a heavy shattering clatter. Wade then easily unholstered one of his Desert Eagles and pressed the barrel to Weasel's temple where he held the blonde man down, his face smooshed against the gray linoleum.

Domino had stepped back, looking wide eyed as Weasel knocked more money off the table with his scrambling hands while cursing in pain since his nose was bleeding and blood was smearing onto the table surface. Wade stopped his squirming when he cocked the hammer on the gun and then Weasel was still and breathing heavily and he had his wrists on the table but hands raised as much as he could in surrender. He started to say something, but Wade spoke first in a no bullshit but cheery tone,

"I don't negotiate my fucking cut. Period."

He then told Weasel to count out his money and put in his duffle bag, on the double, or else he'd find out how much it hurt to be pistol-whipped, repeatedly.

Weasel agreed pretty pathetically and without hesitation as expected and Wade let him up.

He stood by, Domino too, although a little further back than before, as Weasel quickly and shakily packed stack after stack of green notes into Wade's duffle bag, blood still dripping from his nose, some of it onto the money, but Wade didn't care. His money often had blood on it, always figuratively but also sometimes literally.

Once his cut was in the bag Wade zipped it up, ruffled Weasel's hair, ignoring how the man flinched away from him, and then he turned to leave. He said a pleasant goodbye to Dom but she ignored him, just staring at him as he left while Weasel stood doing the same.

* * *

Before, Wade would never have hurt Weasel, or any of them, no matter what they might have said to him. And as much as he knew he shouldn't have manhandled and hurt Weasel in that instance, he couldn't say with any certainty that he wouldn't do it again at some point if Weasel pissed him off again.

Hurting people just came easier to him since the snap, or blip or whatever. When he got angry, he tended to be more severe and violent in his reactions, whereas in the past he'd been careless and impulsive. Nowadays, If someone pissed him off, he _reacted_ before he _joked_ , which was the opposite of how he'd been before, when everything had been something to joke about.

Wade didn't find much to laugh and joke about these days, but he was trying.

Still, Weasel and Dom finally got the new memo that he wasn't the Wade or the Deadpool they'd once known, and after that second incident, Dom stopped coming around to Hellhouse and Weasel did business with Wade in a weirdly professional way, whether over the phone or in person. Weasel barely reacted to him, even on good days when Wade was able to muster up his old personality and he'd try to lighten the atmosphere, Weasel was unmoved.

Wade supposed putting a gun to a friend's head would fuck up any friendship.

It bothered him, on some level, in some way, that his 'friends' were afraid of him, that they didn't trust him...that he couldn't always trust himself. But in the end it didn't matter, because those five years had fucked him up and he was doing his best with what he had left of himself.

Anyway, it's not like he needed anyone to be close to him, he really was used to being alone, and these days he believed he was better off that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me your thoughts?
> 
> Now that's out of the way,  
> Next Chapter: Deadpool and Spider-Man meet again...


	3. But I can't keep taking, I'm numb, I'm sedated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The post credit scene of Spider-Man Far From Home is excluded from this story, because that's the MCU's problem. I'm not touching that unexpected drama.
> 
> Not beta read, all errors are mine.
> 
> WARNINGS: AFTERMATH OF RAPE, VIOLENCE

* * *

_...so you decide to make incisions at your home while you're alone, all alone._

* * *

Everything that happened, up to and including Tony Stark's death, it was all a complete and utter nightmare, one from which Peter could not wake up.

In the aftermath, no matter how many times he cried himself to sleep and woke up to the sun shining offensively bright and beautifully in through the cracks in his curtains, or even after he'd be careless in a fight against too many criminals at once and he'd get banged up enough that he just passed out at home still wearing his suit, the next day would dawn and the world would still be turning and everyone who'd blipped out were all back and going on with life...but not those who died outside of the stones' influence, they were not back and never would be and it _hurt_ so bad.

Tony was still dead, and Black Widow and Vision...and Cap wasn't looking so good these days either, old age was doing its natural thing and Peter just knew he'd be gone soon, too.

And Peter, who wished with everything he was that he could have done more to make some kind of difference, couldn't help feeling like it was never supposed to have been this way, it should never have turned out like this! But then he'd bitterly recall Doctor Strange telling them all on Titan that there was only one foreseen outcome in which they'd defeat Thanos, and now he knew that Mister Stark dying had been a part of that reality.

So it quite literally _was_ meant to be the way it all ended up.

And not in some lame ' _fate_ ' kind of way, but in the ' _everything that can happen, will happen, in every possible reality_ ' sort of way.

And this was his reality.

* * *

He _hated_ it, and those first few weeks immediately after the blip, after having lost people, were both a relief to be alive, as well as a curse to be alive. Someone who you love dying was one of the hardest things ever, and Peter knew a lot about loss. For that reason he was grateful May had blipped too, because it meant she hadn't had to live five whole years with the pain of losing him. She was spared that suffering at least.

And they got through it together, like they had in the past after uncle Ben...

It was different obviously, the circumstances were very different. The whole process of putting their lives back together after returning to a world where the place they'd lived and everything they'd owned was gone, it was a whole new level of shitty. It had been super stressful figuring it all out, but again Peter was left feeling fortunate and grateful to have Pepper and Happy in their lives, because he knew so many people didn't have the support of people like him and May had, and that they were very lucky.

* * *

And as it did, more time just passed them by, life going on and on and on; May finding work and getting involved in several projects to help people who were left without homes, while he went back to school to do his senior year over from the start. They say time heals, but really all it does is numb. And so, as the ache of loss began to numb, things began to settle around him and inside of him. Slowly but surely, he came to 'terms' with the way things were, with the losses and the changes and the fact that he was both 17 and 22 at the same time. _That_ was hella weird to say the least.

And it was all a lot to deal with at first, but after a while it just became **life** , and that was the point of it all. Mister Stark, Tony, hadn't died for nothing, no, he'd been the only person out of billions, who could save **trillions** of beings and species across the entire universe.

And that was really something. Something to look at in the brightest, most inspiring light.

Tony Stark was a hero, a real hero, THE hero.

Peter's hero.

* * *

It was that inspiring viewpoint that made Peter's senior year go by without the feelings of sadness and anxiety that had plagued him so badly right after he'd come back.

He felt positive and clear headed and even kind of _happy_.

May seemed happy too, having left her day job to take up a full time role of helping the community. Her recovery center for people left destitute after the blip was attracting sponsors like crazy and Peter was also happy to be doing his part in helping New Yorker's just by being their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, even if sometimes he felt like a bit of a mascot, what with Spider-Man's face on badges and pamphlets for May's promotions. It wasn't a bad thing, but he was just so notoriously _bad_ at being popular. Yeesh.

Of course, being used to being awkward and unpopular worked in his favour at school at least, since the entire dynamic of his final year of high school was different due to all the students who blipped having to repeat certain grade years of school. The whole hierarchy of popular mostly fell apart under the new circumstances and so Peter didn't have to feel like a loser at socializing when more than half of the people he'd known before the blip were all walking around at a bit of a loss about how to just go back to school.

It was actually sort of funny if you looked at it objectively.

Peter found it particularly amusing that the girlfriend Flash had had before the blip was now five years older than him and felt 'too weird' dating a 'minor'. And okay, yeah, he felt kind of bad for the guy too, but considering how crappy his own luck usually was, Peter felt really, _really_ lucky that for once things were going well for him. Because MJ and Ned had both blipped too, and that meant that his best friend and the girl he liked hadn't outgrown him.

Especially the latter, because as a 17 year old, Peter was pretty sure he and Ned would have still been friends even with a five year age gap, but if MJ had aged up, then like Flash, Peter would have been shit out of luck in wanting to date her.

As it were, he was 17 and so was MJ, and he was like 94.6 % sure that she liked him back and everything was going so well as their final school year was drawing to a close. High school would be behind them soon and adult life would mean university and part time jobs and so he was really looking forward to the final school trip of the year to Europe because this was going to be his shot at telling Michelle how he feels and he had a **plan**!

He _had_ a plan.

* * *

Then Mysterio happened.

* * *

It was a _serious_ learning curb for Peter. It rattled him. It woke him up. It changed him.

Everything that happened with Mysterio brought his own naivety into a glaringly bright light.

He was too trusting, too soft, too gullible, too young.

How many times had Mister Stark chastised him and told him he was just a kid and he'd argued that he wasn't _just_ a kid? And he hadn't listened, he'd never listened, and he'd gone on to make stupid, stupid mistakes. Then there had been the times when he'd wanted to just be a kid, and even then he'd messed stuff up.

His most recent screw up being the prime example: his absolutely _stupid_ decision to hand over EDITH to a man he'd known for less than a damn week, just because the guy had been _friendly_ and seemed _understanding_.

In hindsight, after he'd royally effed up, Peter could see that Quintin had barely done a _thing_ in order to gain the kind of trust that Peter had hastily put in his hands. And it was like he'd just _known_ that Peter would be stupid enough to do it too, like his entire game plan was to manipulate Peter and his stupid, childish one track mind at the time.

He'd mentally berated himself over and over in the time that passed after the whole Mysterio debacle, not showing it outwardly because he didn't want May to worry, or his new girlfriend, MJ, to catch on either, but Peter blamed himself for any and all lives lost to Mysterio's rampages. And he lost a lot of sleep over it, his appetite too. He also blamed himself for the damage to the beautiful cities of Europe, blamed himself for the fact that his friends and classmates had nearly died because of him, _again._

It even occurred to him at some point during one of his many, many miserable self-reflections, that it was really ironic that the dangerous murderer, criminal, villainous super, Deadpool, had been someone Peter's impulsively placed trust in had turned out to be worth a hell of a lot. After so many years the man hadn't so much as made even a fleeting appearance in Peter's life since that day on Coney Island.

Although, Peter had also spared a thought or two to the idea that maybe Deadpool had died, considering the dangerous nature of his life, it was entirely possible. And he'd felt an odd, unexpected sadness at the idea, a sadness for the fact that he'd never really had a chance to learn more about the unusual man who had sent him home safe and sound in a cab during a moment of vulnerability that so many other bad guys would have take advantage of. But so much had happened since then, and he didn't have the time to dwell on something that happened so long ago, and so once again Deadpool was forgotten.

* * *

Life went on, it _always_ went on, and pretty soon almost two years had passed.

Peter managed to attend university without a hitch, in part because he had been given a full scholarship, but also because being an Avenger apparently came with a monthly salary, a system which had been set up by Tony back before…

Well, before.

So, he didn't have to _afford_ university because of his scholarship, which had always kind of been the plan even before he'd become Spider-Man and had met Tony Stark, and because of his Avenger salary he could afford the perk of having his own apartment. Also, he didn't have to spread himself too thin because of university, patrol **and** a part time job. It really made a world of difference to have a decent income, especially considering how tired he was all the time since sleep was still hard to come by.

And as for eating, honestly, if it wasn't for May calling him at least once a day and asking about his food intake, Peter was sure he would easily be considered to be starving. At least though, when he was reminded to eat, he tended to inhale a ridiculous amount of food thanks to his super metabolism's demands. But it was like he only realized he was hungry when he was reminded to eat, because when he wasn't, he didn't even notice he was hungry, not really anyway, not enough to seek food. Then the moment he acknowledged it, it was like the _L_ _ittle_ _S_ _hop_ _O_ _f_ _H_ _orrors_ in his stomach and he'd eat his own weight, and then some, in food.

So yeah, even now that they didn't live together anymore, May kept him on track with meals.

As for May, her business of helping people who had blipped had been something she gradually eased out of as the world settled back into itself, and she was finally calling what she and Happy were doing 'dating', so she was preoccupied with that. In a good way. And that made so much of the world right for Peter, to see her happy...with Happy. Haha.

Unfortunately, those two things, university and May doing well, that was where the happiness stopped for Peter.

* * *

The Mysterio disaster had faded into the background just as fast as other major villains who showed up with a big showy bang tended to. It was hard to stay relevant in a world full of supers and villains, let alone NY specifically. But Peter was still learning that the big showy villains were only one kind of bad.

A little over five years actively being Spider-Man, and he was still learning, and still taking knocks from reality as he patrolled more and more, and later and later into the night and early hours of the morning now as an adult. Peter found himself facing the everyday horrors of the world up close, and it was really, really ugly; the everyday heinous, twisted crimes that people were capable of.

He learned very quickly that it didn't take a super villain to _truly_ shake him up, to horrify him, to anger and make him feel sick and sore. No, it was the everyday men and women, in the form of the common violent criminal types: kidnappers, various kinds of traffickers, rapists, murderers of all kinds, child molesters and pedophiles and organized underworld mobsters and gangs. And then there were even the 'less serious' disturbing types of criminals involved in domestic abuse, various sorts of hate-crimes and organized agenda and factional terrorist crimes, violent child criminals, white collar criminals…just so many kinds of criminals, so many bad, disgusting, _evil_ people.

And for all that he tried to stay positive, tried to keep his head above water, it inevitably got him down, tore into him, stole away the little bit of hope and happiness that he'd once had due a lack of full awareness about the world. With each day and each horrible thing he witnessed, he became jaded in the worst ways. Not numb or apathetic, or any kind of feeling that would help him manage the nausea and guilt and sympathy and regret he felt for those he could and couldn't save, no, just jaded.

Being Jaded didn't stop him from feeling every bit of those other emotions, right down to his core, heavy in his stomach, stuck in his throat. And while it pushed him to work harder as Spider-Man, kept him dedicated to keeping NY as clean as he could as a Super Hero, as Peter Parker he was failing at keeping his shit together.

And that was why, after a year and a bit of being together, MJ broke up with him.

She said it was because he needed to focus on himself, she said that he should maybe see a therapist to help him deal with the dark side of being Spider-Man, the things he'd been through and seen that he hadn't – and could never bring himself to have – told her about. She'd gotten tired of his sleepless nights and nightmares that he never wanted to talk about, which led to him sleeping on the couch more often than in bed with her. She got tired of him not caring where they went out to eat on date nights and then being late to their dates as well. She got tired of his excuses for not making it to social events, whether it was friends, family or work, tired of him being beaten up, tired and sore. Tired of how whenever they did get around to having sex, ninety percent of the time he came too quickly or not at all, his body always out of balance, his mind either too involved in it or too distracted from it.

She'd been wanting to move in together for a while too, and he'd always avoided the subject. She'd wanted to go on a vacation like the one they'd missed out on as teens and Peter had postponed and postponed and postponed. She'd wanted him to remember to ask if she was enjoying her new book or if she'd had a good day, wanted him to be spontaneous, to have real conversations with her instead of internalizing...she'd wanted so many things, not even unreasonable things, and yet the things she'd wanted had been too much for him.

He hadn't been able to find it in himself to do them, to give them to her, to be what she wanted and needed.

As honest as ever, when she ended it with him, MJ had made it plainly clear that it was _him_ and not her.

And he didn't blame her.

At the time of the break up it had pretty much crushed him, it had been a whole new and different weight of failure and loss to experience. Right after the initial severance, he'd gone through what he thought was a fairly normal break up phase; he'd cried when he was alone at night, and sometimes under his mask during patrol, thinking about how good he and MJ had been together while scrolling through photos on his laptop or phone. He'd binged on eating take out and junk food instead of occasionally actually consuming something properly nutritional. Also in the wake of the break up, his apartment became neglected, the place ended up being a mess he didn't care to clean, and often when he'd go out as Spider-Man, he'd be a little more aggressive during patrol in order to vent some of his frustration.

It had gone on like that for about two months...but then the haze of abandonment and loneliness had gradually morphed into just being alone and having more free time. He started tidying up around the place at his own pace, and being alone whenever he was home, he started to spend more time reading or watching movies, and enjoying TV series marathons. He started to take walks, make attempts at cooking, listen to music he liked, change some things in the apartment to suit just him instead of having suited 'them'. Over all, he spent more time on 'Peter' things, which was nice.

It was...nice.

Unfortunately, the major downside of being alone, was in those times when he was really down and had nothing to distract him from reality, he had a lot more time to wallow and regret and internalize and overthink, all things that made it harder and harder for Peter Parker to be a part of the normal world.

And so he hid behind the mask and suit of Spider-Man more and more.

* * *

Peter had a general route that he followed when patrolling, a route he was presently on, swinging between the tall buildings of New York at 1.20 AM on a Friday morning, his heightened senses advanced enough to focus on the noise of the city below and around him even through the rush of wind around his body.

His route was fairly wide reaching, he'd planned it a long time ago to cover a large enough part of the city, but it also took him through the most necessary parts of the city when it came to protecting New Yorkers. He also kept hours for patrolling that he felt were fair to those who went out in the daytime and the nighttime, usually starting halfway through the afternoon and staying out until the early morning hours. On days when he had free time he tried to cover mid-morning hours too, by that wasn't always possible.

On a good day, when university lectures went smoothly and everything lined up, he had about 3 or 4 hours of lectures and managed 10 to 12 hours on patrol, which then left him with some personal down time to sleep, go shopping for essentials -when he remembered-, or visit the newly built -though not quite so massive- Avengers Compound, where he would work in the labs or workshop on personal or Avengers related projects. Often enough he'd also try to see May, and even sometimes Ned, or if he was really exhausted he'd just stay home and eat junk food while playing video games.

Obviously, there were times when he didn't manage to cover his full route, like if crime came up somewhere else and the ensuing thwarting of bad guys monopolized his time. But other times when crime was down and he'd covered his usual area of distance completely without incident, then he'd venture out further, going sometimes as far as southern Brooklyn or past upper Manhattan depending on which direction his web slinging took him.

He never had a day off though, because being Spider-Man was full time, so he could never do all the things he wanted or needed to in one day, but he tried to space them out each week so that he achieved some normalcy in his life. But of course, since everything he did depended on his Spider-Man patrols, it meant that sometimes he ended up injured and needed to cancel or change plans abruptly.

When injuries weren't too serious, or in a noticeable place, he'd just wear a few more layers of clothing and continue on with what he had to do. His healing ability and some pain medsusually managed it. But when something was broken, badly bleeding and truly damaged, and required proper recuperation and down time, then Peter would put everything off and basically hide from the world for a few days.

He was sure he'd have used up every excuse in the book after so long, which was why he counted himself really lucky that everyone who mattered to him knew that he was Spider-Man, because it meant his excuse could always just be ' _I'm a little beat up, just gonna' sleep it off_ ', followed by a fake lighthearted declination against anyone coming to see him or check on him. He had to do things that way, because while his excuse was always 'I'm a little beat up', on those occasions when he hid away from the world in his apartment, it was never just a _little_ beat up, but instead pretty severely beat up or badly injured.

He suspected that May had probably figured it out by now, that he was never completely honest about how hurt he was, but May was a _mazing_ in that she read him really well and handled his personal choices like a pro. The older he got the less she mothered him and the more she just supported him, and that was what he really needed; support. Ned always wanted to talk about the superhero thing, and to him pretty much everything was 'so cool', even when it really sucked and Peter hated it. Happy kept a close, but still decent, distance, always available when Peter needed him but never overbearing. And once a week Peter would get a call from Maria Hill for a routine 'status update and status check'. She apparently did it with all the remaining Avengers, the members of which Peter barely had any contact with aside from seeing them in passing when he went to the compound, or whenever the time came for Avengers business to be discussed, which had never yet happened, not since Thanos had been dealt with.

There hadn't been another Avengers level threat in NY or the world since Mysterio, if he could even be classified as such a threat, and before Mysterio it had been Thanos. Yeah, things had been pretty 'peaceful' aside from everyday crime. The closest NY had come to any major threat was several months earlier, when some guy called Doctor friggen' Von Doom -of all things- had kicked up a fuss, but the Fantastic Four -who Peter had only briefly met a while back- had dealt with him on their own.

Peter wasn't foolishly naïve and hopeful enough, not anymore, to think it would last permanently, no, something would come up eventually and it'd be ugly...because it always was. But for right then, for the last two years and some change since he'd come back from the blip, things had been...well, okay-ish.

Presently, he arched up from a swing high above an office building and did a flip before landing on the building's rooftop. He went straight into a run across the massive rooftop, preparing for another leap and sling off the edge as he tried to shake off the feeling of melancholy that often tried to weigh him down. He hated feeling down and he tried to avoid it and fight off those feelings whenever he could because he didn't have a reason to feel so shitty about anything, not when his life was actually really good and others had it so bad.

He really didn't want to be the kind of guy who was ungrat-

Peter skidded to an abrupt halt, all daily life pondering ending just as abruptly when he heard a scream, of what sounded like pain, carrying on the wind. He did an about-face when he heard the same pained screaming again, sounded like a man, coming from a northwesterly direction. The sound only just managed to reach him up as high as he was, maybe twelve stories, which meant it likely came from all the way down on the ground and in an alley, not in the open street, and quite some distance away.

He immediately moved in the direction from which the screams had come, sprinting now to cover the distance of the roof faster before he reached a reasonable closeness to the building ledge and he extended his arm, shooting out a web at a slightly taller building across the street.

However, as he started to web sling toward the unfolding crime, he noticed that the buildings weren't that tall over all, which meant he was forced to shorten his webs because he was already swinging pretty low, close to civilian head height -had there been any civilians out at that hour. And it didn't take more than a glance around for him to realize he'd gone off route on one of his further patrols that night, and by the looks of things, Peter was out past Upper Manhattan and was currently swinging into Bronx territory.

The dark streets being empty was good though, because it meant he could swing low and hear better, but he frowned under his mask as he closed in on the general area where the screams would have come from because there were no more screams to be heard. He panicked internally then, in the way he usually did when he felt like he was too late to save someone, muttering a soft string of 'no' to himself as he moved quickly and tried to hear something, anything!

He dropped onto a low rise apartment building rooftop and jogged to the edge to look around down on the streets, his chest heaving more from anxiety and the need to _find_ the person in need of help than from a loss of breath. The air was warm and his suit was starting to cling to him as he started to sweat, stress and worry setting in. He wanted to call out, which was something a younger Spider-Man would have stupidly done, but after several times of losing the criminal due to calling out in his haste and alerting them to his presence, he'd stopped doing that.

Unfortunately it meant he couldn't call out to the victim of a crime either.

"Shit, shit, _shit_ …" he muttered, pacing on the rooftop backwards and forwards and side to side as he kept reaching out with his heightened senses for any hint as to where the screamer's exact location was. He wasn't hearing anything though, and with his hands balled into fists Peter felt himself becoming frustrated and angry while feeling that familiar ache of regret squeeze at his chest and throat for being too late.

In an attempt to calm down, he considered that maybe there wasn't a criminal, maybe someone had just been injured and so maybe he should call out. That seemed like a good excuse to call out. And even if the criminal did run, Peter decided he would hopefully still be able to find the victim and help them!

He nodded to himself, decided on what to do, and he hopped up into his usual agile crouch on the edge of the building, about to call out in the direction the scream had come from and then leap into action at the first call for help that might come...except, just before he could, Peter's hearing, strained as he currently had it, picked up the sound of distressed sobbing...of a woman.

It was a sound he was able to pinpoint and hone in on.

Peter shot a web out and was off at high speed, swinging hurriedly and very low to the ground with tense determination in the direction of the sobbing several blocks away. His heart rate was rabbiting with more urgency now, pumping through his veins faster, because first he'd heard a man scream and now there was a woman sobbing and that meant there were two victims, not one! And one would already have been enough.

He clenched his teeth in anger and made a sound of frustration as he swung around a corner, barely avoiding the rooftop of a parked off car. He really hated violent crimes! Peter would take dealing with a million bank robberies, drug deals, break-ins and any other less or non violent crimes than having to deal with people being hurt by other people. It was _the worst_ and it made him sad and angry and feel desperate.

Desperate like he'd felt watching fellow heroes turn to dust, like he'd felt watching Tony die, desperate like he'd felt when Mysterio had been rampaging before and after Peter had known it was all him!

And that desperation that raced through him made him feel both confident and violent in a way that tended not to bode well for the criminals when he caught up to them. Seeing the extent of common violence in such excess over the years had made him colder and less lenient than he'd once been when he was just a naïve teen in a fancy super hero suit, wanting to help make the world a better place.

Shit...no, the world was so broken. Not even half mankind disappearing for five years had been enough to stop people from being so damn _evil_ _!_

By the time he reached the sobbing – now louder to him than it had been – Peter felt _livid_ , and he swung up and dropped down at the entrance to the alleyway, not even bothering with a flip or to stick some cool landing before he was stalking into the space between the buildings with his fists and jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached and his knuckles were white...

But what happened once he was actually several feet into the dead end alleyway was very unexpected, not just for the sight that met Peter's eyes, but also because of the sharp rush of shock, excitement and then dread and disappointment that flooded him. It was a quick roller-coaster of feelings that made him feel sick and confused, and it was all because standing rigidly up head in the alley...was Deadpool. Every bit the 6 foot 2 well built man, decked out in a cool black and red fitting suit, strapped for days with weapons; just as Peter remembered him.

Seeing Deadpool for the first time in _years_ had sparked unexpected and confusing excitement in Peter.

But then the excitement and strange weightlessness he'd felt in his stomach quickly changed to a twisting knot that made him feel awful and sick, because Deadpool was standing there, yes, but he was standing there facing a semi-conscious, injured man, who was groaning in agony where he was _pinned_ through both shoulders to the brick wall of the building by two katanas. His feet were not touching the ground, but his blood was with every drip, drip, drip from not only the wounds of the weapons spearing him, but also from another wound in his stomach. Peter could smell the blood now, and it appeared so black and so shiny as it steadily pooled on the filthy ground.

Peter couldn't have imagined he'd feel so deeply hurt and so upset at seeing Deadpool committing the sort of crime that he logically had always known Deadpool was capable of committing, had in fact committed in the past, that Peter both knew of and didn't know of. But there he stood, feeling his chest constrict in a whole new way at the sight of the man he'd only met once before, and had for some reason felt completely unthreatened by, now standing before him in the process of killing another person.

He didn't fully understand or know the reason he'd felt safe around Deadpool all those years ago, but that ever-naïve part of him had somehow categorized Deadpool - _Wade-_ as not being an enemy, as being **something** more, something different, and now despite not having a single damn reason to, Peter felt like his feelings and trust had been betrayed.

It was like Beck all over again; he'd let himself trust Beck and the man had used his trust against him.

Deadpool though…Deadpool owed him nothing, not even so much as an explanation, and yet he felt so-

A sob sounded, shaking Peter from his internal struggle, and it was the woman's sob he'd heard before, but being much closer to the situation now, Peter could hear her quiet, hiccupped groans of pain too, he could practically _hear_ her trembling. He felt even sicker then, because Deadpool had two victims lined up and Peter had to...he had to…

He watched, barely breathing as Deadpool turned away from the man pinned and bleeding on the wall. He watched as the rigidness in Deadpool's shoulders softened just a bit and his overall demeanor became less threatening, and then he was looking down and facing the opposite wall of the alley. Peter kept frowning as his eyes followed where Deadpool was looking to, and his body jolted with fresh shock when he saw the lower half of a woman's jean clad legs, tightly crossed closed, visible from behind some lined up garbage bins and boxes.

Despite his spider senses not even hinting at him that anything bad was about to happen, he feared the worst just seeing Deadpool raising his hands to settle on his hips as he looked down at the woman, and then just as Peter took a breath, raised his arm to shoot a web and stepped forward with the intent of stopping whatever was about to happen, Deadpool's hands moved again…

...to reach awkwardly for the woman as he bent slightly at the knees and said,

"Is it okay if I help you to stan-"

But Peter's step forward had been heard, and then he was seen, expressive white mask eyes sharply settling on him and Deadpool stopped talking and stood up straight, turning to face where Peter stood at the opening of the alley just as Pet-, no, Spider-Man, was standing, blocking the alley exit, and watching him.

Just like years before Peter had no idea what to expect, but also, just like years before, his spider-sense was completely calm, even as he stared across the short distance at a very dangerous man.

Then, in a voice that sounded a little surprised and a little strained, Deadpool said,

"Baby boy, surprised to see you around here."and he did sound surprised, but in a sort of subdued and somber way. Noticing that came secondary though, to hearing Deadpool call him 'baby boy', as if he hadn't only ever called Peter that weird thing one single time _years_ ago, the out of the blue nickname falling from his masked lips like no time had passed at all, like they'd known each other well for years.

Like Peter was still 15 years old, when being called anything with 'baby' in it had felt like maybe it was a condescending insult of some kind, but now it felt so different...now it felt so _personal_.

They didn't even know one another, but recalling the...uh, highlights of meeting Deadpool, of when he'd discovered the man's particular brand of interest in Spider- **Man** back then, made his face heat up under his mask and he swallowed thickly. He caught his thoughts stupidly wandering and blinked rapidly under the mask, which made his mask eye lenses open and contract quickly, trying to adjust with a few noisy 'zzt' sounds, and then he shook his head once to clear whatever weird fascination-stupor he was caught in.

Refocusing, he let Deadpool's words sink in and he wondered if by Deadpool saying that, it meant he'd specifically been lurking in places where Spider-Man didn't go?

What the hell?

He didn't ask that though, instead his anger reasserted itself and he took another step forward, demanding to know,

"What are you doing to these people?" as he raised his arm and hand again into position to web Deadpool if the man made any sudden moves. He didn't even bother to put on his Spider-Man NY accent, because he knew Deadpool knew who was under the mask and suit, so there was no pretense required. And for some reason he felt sadness seep into his chest again for a loss of...of something, he'd never even realized he felt with regards to Deadpool in the first place.

"Oh, me? Nothing much." Deadpool said in a plainly fake lighthearted tone, a tone so clearly under laced with anger and malice that it was impossible not to notice, and yet, Peter's spider senses remained so calm. "I was just about to go _Jennifer Hills Revenge_ on this fuckbag over here." Deadpool added, gesturing with a knife, that Peter hadn't even noticed he was holding, and actually poking the man speared to the wall in the chest with the knife tip as he spoke over the man's pained whimpers.

Peter frowned, not understanding whatever reference Deadpool was making, and somehow the older man must have correctly interpreted his narrowed eye lenses, because his own expressive mask let Deadpool know that Peter was confused by what he'd said.

"You're probably too young to get that reference, uh..." Deadpool tapped his masked chin with the blade of the knife just once in thought before he snapped the fingers of his other hand and said, " _Last House on the Left_ , Spidey, yeah? That remake was more well known than the original for your generation." Peter just stared at him, "That's the kind of hurt I'm about to put on this asshole." Deadpool stated darkly. And he didn't need to say anything more, because he was right, that time Peter understood the reference perfectly and he felt a new wave of nausea set in, the situation dawning on him as Deadpool went on, "The revenge part obviously, not the rape part, because consent is very, **very** fucking important, but some sick fuck's just don't get **that.** " Deadpool's anger reared its head, colouring his voice into a growl as he stabbed his knife into the man's groin abruptly and with force.

And while the man's screams of pain were loud and agonized, Peter barely registered it, he barely registered anything after he'd heard the word _rape_ , because his stomach dropped out, and he felt sick and hateful because _this,_ this kind of sick crimewas the true ugliness of common _every day_ crime, of the common evil that trumped someone like Thanos or Mysterio in Peter's book. Because how could someone...how could anyone do _that_ to another person!

He didn't even get to really acknowledge the relief he felt at knowing Deadpool wasn't committing the crime Peter had thought he was, because his entire focus settled on what he could see of the woman, who had drawn her legs more out of sight as she started crying a little louder, probably curling in on herself.

It all seemed so glaringly obvious now when he looked properly; the fact that her jeans were far too bunched up around her lower legs, and now that he paid attention he could see that her purse, some pieces of jewelry and even ripped cloth was lying not far away from where he stood leading into the alley. And even though it wasn't the first time he'd encountered a rape scenario, having been lucky enough sometimes to stop it before it started and other times only arriving when it was _too fucking late_ , it never got any easier to deal with.

"You think you could help her out of here, Spidey?" Deadpool asked, voice a little gentler, and Peter was approaching him and what he could see of the woman before the question was even fully voiced. He allowed himself to hope that Deadpool had managed to stop it in time, but once he was close enough, almost stepping into Deadpool's tall form before he abruptly stopped where he could see the woman properly, he saw very clearly that Deadpool had been _too late_.

There was blood...on her jeans...her...on her bare upper thighs.

She was still crying and shaking, curled in on herself. There were bruises forming...

Anger and sadness made tears burn his eyes. He felt sick with it.

The man was still screaming hoarsely with a knife sticking out of his groin and Peter felt _pleased_.

Deadpool placed one large hand between Peter's shoulder blades as if to ground him...and It worked.

He leaned just slightly back into that bracing hand, just for a brief, calming second, before he nodded,

"I'll take her to the nearest hospital." because he could, should and would do that, because that's what he always did in these situations, because that's _all_ he could do when he was too late. He felt helpless but he **had** to help somehow. He settled with bitter familiar ease into his jaded autopilot mode then and he crouched down slowly in front of the woman, speaking in the soothing quiet way he'd learned to use from past experiences,

"Miss..." he started with, because she was, oh god, she was young, maybe only a little older than him, and smaller than him and helpless and harmless. His stomach ached, "...is it okay if I help you stand up?" and subconsciously he realized that that had been what Deadpool had been about to ask her earlier, "I want to take you to a hospital, okay?"

It took some coaxing to get a shaky nod and answer of _yes_ from her, but Peter, his throat sore from wanting to cry with and for her, was endlessly patient. And surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly, so was Deadpool, who stood by quietly and calmly, at one point placing a tight hand over the mouth of the rapist to quieten his shouts of pain and for help.

After she'd agreed verbally she tried to move, dissolving into tears and hiccups as she tried to pull her jeans back up her legs. And Peter...he didn't know how to help her, every time he had to help someone hurt this way he always felt so lost as to how to go about it, so he only barely touched her shoulder in tentative support and encouragement as she made no progress. Every situation like this was different, and Peter had never been in this sort of one before, where the girl was in a state of undress that she needed help correcting it. He didn't know how it had never happened before, or why it was happening now, but he started panicking again the more she cried and made failed attempts, because he wanted to help but was too _scared_ to touch her.

Hadn't she been through enough? Did she need the humiliation of a useless 'super hero' watching her as she tried to regain some dignity!

Peter didn't realize he was shaking until a firm, sure and large hand settled on the back of his neck and he looked up at Deadpool, mask eye lenses wide, a shaken breath leaving his mouth as he wordlessly showed he was at a loss, he needed some sort of guidance. He just didn't know what to do!

Deadpool was not Peter though.

Not just because he wasn't a super hero, but because he wasn't nervous or unsure.

"Help her stand up." he instructed, voice very quiet and calm, but still firm.

Peter listened immediately, standing up himself and stepping to be beside her. He was still unsure about touching her, but Deadpool wasn't, he seemed to know what to do, so Peter listened, and he told the girl what he was doing just before he did it. Gently he lifted one of her shaking arms up and put it around his shoulders as he lightly gripped her flank and easily lifted her up. She was tense yet limp somehow and she cried more, trying to grab at her jeans with her other hand.

But she didn't suffer any humiliation because Deadpool, so quick and with such gentle, yet clinical ease, crouched down to grab the sides of her jeans waist and he pulled it up as he stood, letting go and stepping back when it was up over her waist and she had a white knuckled grip on it with one hand, her other arm now tightly curled around Peter's neck as she sobbed with her head ducked down. Her sobs were a bit softer though, which meant that maybe, just maybe, she felt even just a little better.

Peter's chest was still tight with many suffocating emotions, and some of the tightness had to do with an emotional reaction to Deadpool's handling of this situation. It was like even though he was unemotional about it, barely seemed outwardly phased by it all, he just knew what to do and how to do it, like he'd had to do it before many times; and who knew, maybe he had? Peter had too, but god, it was still so hard for him.

"Here." Deadpool said, making Peter refocus from what he'd been thinking, still holding up most of the girl's weight where she had semi-curled into his side. He looked at Deadpool, watching as the man roughly ripped the blood stained flannel shirt off the man stuck to the wall. The rapist cried out as it jostled his heavily bleeding wounds, more blood dripping into the growing puddle on the floor and running down the wall, but none of them cared. Peter didn't fucking **care**.

Deadpool proceeded to tie the large piece of material gently around the girl's waist to further conceal her state of undress. She was probably in pain, Peter guessed, and she seemed too focused on the basic necessity of being covered to notice much else now.

Peter's heart hurt so badly for her.

"They'll do a rape kit at the hospital, so you tell em' the shirt belonged to the rapist, his DNA is all over it. You also tell em' it was Deadpool who made the fucker bleed." Deadpool continued to talk softly and seriously, speaking to the girl more than to Peter. He possibly knew Peter couldn't stick around at the hospital for too long, it would draw too much attention, so he was telling the girl what she needed to do. But even if she couldn't, even if she wasn't really listening right then, Peter was confident the hospital staff would figure it out and tell the police whatever they could.

He hadn't missed Deadpool's use of 'belonged' though, the past tense. And he had to wonder why the DNA mattered if Deadpool was going to kill the guy. Because Deadpool was definitely going to kill him, and Peter, well...Peter wasn't going to stop him.

Deadpool proceeded to pull the guy's wallet out of his jeans, more jostling and screaming, flipped it open to take something out and when he was done he handed the man's driver's license to Peter, tossed the wallet over his shoulder so it hit the guy in the face and he placed his hands on his hips,

"They can match all the DNA up to his identity, nice and tidy." he stated, voice tight with anger, and then they looked at each other, mask to mask, for a moment before Peter snapped himself out of it and addressed his suit's AI function,  
"Karen," he still called it, despite having reprogrammed the AI to be without a 'personality' when he'd designed his new suit to fight Mysterio, "locate the nearest hospital." he requested. He'd been in a hurry when designing the new suit and hadn't bothered to add 'Karen' to it, and then afterwards he just never bothered with it. EDITH was already one talking AI too many for his memories and heart to handle.

Deadpool tilted his head curiously as Peter made the request to seemingly no one, and Peter vaguely gestured to his head with his hand holding the license and muttered,

"AI." to which Deadpool's expressive mask made an ' _Ah, I see_ ' movement. As Peter waited for 'Karen' to bring up a map and fastest route, Deadpool pulled an old flip phone out of one of his many pouches, opened it and scrolled through something before holding it out for Peter to take.

"Call Dopinder to pick you up. He'll take you to the hospital." he said as Peter took the phone, holding the license card between his fingers as he glanced down to see Dopinder's name and a number on the old green and black screen.

"He'll come, if I say it's me?" Peter was skeptical, his voice sounding quiet, shaken and smaller than it had in ages. "Will he remember me?"

"Probably." Deadpool shrugged, unsheathing another knife from a holster around one hard, muscular thigh, "if he doesn't, then remind him. He'll come." he added surely, before he turned to face the mostly unconscious man still hanging from the katana's against the wall, "Now get that little lady out of this alley, Baby Boy," he clouted the man soundly across the face so that he became conscious again, gurgling and crying, "I'm gonna' make this dickbag cry me a nice bloody river." he glanced down to where he was standing in a puddle of blood, "I'd say he still has a few pints left in him." he added, voice darkly amused.

Deadpool wasn't even hiding his intentions, and Peter knew he should tell the man not to kill him, that it was wrong...but the thing was, just because Peter couldn't kill anyone himself, even truly evil people, didn't mean he wanted them to live. He was always justifying his choices by saying he wasn't the judge or juror of any other person's actions, so then...he wasn't the judge and juror of Deadpool's either. Peter didn't know why, but the decision to accept that Deadpool could do what he could not was easier made than he'd have thought it would be. He barely knew the man and yet he felt like he knew something important, something real, about him.

Yes, Peter was a _hero_ , stopping crimes whenever he could and helping people on a daily basis, but Deadpool was a different kind of hero, for taking the ugly human sickness out of the world so that the good people could be safe and prosper.

As he walked slowly away with the girl, accommodating her lagging, uneven steps, Peter realized that subconsciously he'd always known that Deadpool was an executioner of bad people, from that first news report where he'd killed all those professional criminals. There'd been lots of collateral damage, but Deadpool's targets had been the bad guys. And then on Coney Island, that massacre had been on the news too if he recalled, and they'd also been criminals, and now this rapist. All bad, bad people.

So many years and Peter had always known in the back of his mind that he didn't think of Deadpool as a villain, especially not after they'd actually met.

So many...years.

He didn't want years to go by before he saw Deadpool….Wade, again, heck, he didn't want the next hour to go by before he saw him again. So Peter gently slowed and stopped walking, holding up the quietly sobbing girl and clutching Deadpool's burner phone in his other hand tightly as he looked back over his shoulder,

"Deadpool?" he said just audibly.

Deadpool had a handful of the rapist's hair in a tight gloved first and the knife in his other held in a precise manner that suggested he'd been about to make some sort of incision, but he paused and looked at Peter,

"Yeah, Baby Boy?" he asked, voice tight but cheery.

And Peter could have still taken the opportunity to say ' _Don't kill him, they'll have his DNA, they'll_ _find him here and_ _lock him up_ ', but instead he said,

"I'll let the hospital call the police," whereas usually he would have done it. And factoring in waiting for Dopinder to show up and getting to the emergency room – which Karen had said was ten minutes away by car-, his own speed when webbing back, and then choosing to exaggerate on account of Deadpool not knowing about the distance and time from there to the hospital, he added, "that gives you half an hour." and he didn't wait for a response before he turned again and continued to walk slowly out of the alley with the girl limping beside him.

All he'd needed to hear was Deadpool mutter something about making the time _worth it_ , to affirm for him that he'd still be in that quiet alley getting his _Jennifer Hill's Revenge_ -whatever that was- by the time Peter returned to find him there, in well under a half hour.

And Peter had _every_ intention of hurrying back to find Deadpool.

He felt like they had something to say to one another, or at least he did. He had something to say.

He didn't even glance back to acknowledge the now weak screams of the rapist as they continued walking further away at a slow pace. He simply hit the dial button on the phone and raised it to his ear as the call went out to Dopinder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave your thoughts if you'd like to, I'm happy to hear them :)
> 
> Next Chapter: Peter doesn't let Deadpool get away from him...


	4. Mistakes flow through your veins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read, all errors are mine.

* * *

_...in a mediocre way._

* * *

True enough, Dopinder remembered who he was the moment Peter said 'it's Spider-Man', the cab driver sounding very pleased but also very confused to hear from him before he asked for the pick up location and stated that he'd be there soon.

Five minutes later Peter and the girl were waiting a block from the scene of the crime. Peter felt tense, his stomach in knots, but he knew the girl was obviously feeling a thousand times worse than he could even imagine. He was about to ask her name, see if he could help calm her some by talking to her, when Dopinder showed up. He left skid marks behind him when he hit the breaks, coming off a high speed to pull up right beside where they stood on the curb, the sound of the screeching breaks echoing in the quiet streets. Peter barely had a moment to step toward the cab before Dopinder had jumped out and was coming around the front of the car, talking cheerily and with a confused smile about how he apparently hadn't heard from Deadpool since before the blip and that he was so excited to be in touch with one of Deadpool's friends again, since someone he called _Weasel_ had been blocking him from trying to make contact with Deadpool.

And he likely would have gone on and on if Peter had been alone, but the moment Dopinder's eyes landed on the girl shaking and curled anxiously into Peter's side, the cab driver fell silent and he paled slightly, his face becoming the picture of sadness and concern before he was muttering an 'oh fuck' and telling Peter to get into the cab quickly, rushing back around the car.

Once in the cab Dopinder drove fast but thankfully not recklessly, almost as if he was mindful of the urgency but also of not wanting to scare the trembling girl in the backseat with Peter. He kept glancing with sadness and concern into the back via the rearview mirror. And Peter had no way of knowing whether Dopinder knew the extent of her injuries, but Peter was once again struck by how the friend of Deadpool, a known killer, was not some cliché, typical bad guy, but instead someone who seemed like a good guy who really was worried and really wanted to help.

The quick cab ride came to an end at the entrance to the emergency room of the nearest NYC health hospital in the Bronx, Dopinder stopping the car just shy of another loud screech. And Peter was surprised when Dopinder offered to take the girl inside without needing prompting or to be asked, almost as if he knew what a hassle it would be for Spider-Man to walk into a municipal hospital...almost as if he'd been in a similar situation before with someone who would draw to much attention by walking into a hospital wearing a full body suit. Maybe he'd taken people to the hospital for Deadpool often in the past? Maybe not always to a hospital even, like in the case of Peter many years ago.

Whatever the case, with his hands and stomach still shaking, mouth sandpaper dry, skin sweated and sticky under his suit from wasted adrenalin and stress, Peter was just really grateful to Dopinder for being so helpful, and he was grateful to Deadpool too…this time though, he wanted to have the opportunity to tell the other Super so personally. So as soon as he'd watched Dopinder help the girl inside the hospital, the cab driver having made no indication that he required payment for the trip, Peter took off at a running pace across the mostly empty parking lot and extended a hand to shoot a web out at the building across the street. Then he was off like a shot, heading back in the direction they'd come from. Back to where Deadpool should still be.

Even as he swung, jumped and leapt around, over and across buildings at high speed, he still felt anxious and oddly impatient. There was a tightness in his dry throat and a light sort of feeling in his stomach, and he was breathing deeply and rhythmically even as his heart pounded and he felt constantly on the verge of tears, his emotions running high and more noticeable to him now that he was alone.

He'd been so sure he'd become jaded enough that he could handle anything the ugly world threw at him, but with how rattled and unmoored he felt after what he'd just had to do...and then Deadpool, watching him be completely sure of himself and knowing just what had needed to be done, actually just _seeing_ him and _hearing_ his barely familiar voice, god, it had shaken Peter to his core.

Made him feel young again in the worst possible way.

It reminded him of the night when the Vulture had so _easily_ and _confidently_ beaten the shit out of him, uncaring of the fact Peter had been a kid, uncaring of Peter's inexperience…uncaring of how vulnerable and alone he had been while trying to be strong. He'd had no one to support him, but he'd come through it for the better, and it had shown him that he needed to fake that strength even when he didn't necessarily feel it. He'd learned that he needed to fake it until he truly felt that strength, until it became real, until he believed he could survive something no matter how much bigger than him it was, be it the villain or the situation.

And he'd thought he'd succeeded in believing he was strong, but after Titan, after the blip and the war and Tony's death…and then Mysterio.

Peter swallowed sorely around the thick lump in his throat as he neared his destination, clenching his teeth in anger and frustration. To this day he still hated thinking about how much he'd fucked up by trusting Beck, by thinking he'd made an instant friend, by subconsciously thinking at the time about how Deadpool – 'the bad guy'- had been trustworthy, so why wouldn't he have been able to trust Quintin? Quintin who had fooled him into believing he was hero, a man who'd lost his family and his world...all of it a complete damn lie.

Peter still sometimes lamented over the fact that his spider-sense had been on the fritz after the confusion of the blip, because he was sure that otherwise he would have felt the warning tingles light up his nervous system the moment he'd first met Beck. His spider-sense had definitely been working after he'd realized he had to be the one to stop Beck, lighting up like a fireworks display and honing down to fine tuning when he'd faced off against Beck and the drones in London.

Thinking about the past was only making him feel more anxious, his chest getting tighter with emotion, so Peter pushed all of those 'what if's' and 'maybes' out of his mind, because it was firmly in the past. Beck was dead and gone, and yeah, he'd damaged Peter's trust so badly that he'd had trouble forming proper or new friendships or relationships ever since. But with Deadpool; Deadpool was from _before_ all that, and Deadpool had never even **once** set off Peter's spider-sense, not in the past and not even earlier that evening when he'd seen the man for only the second time in years. Even seeing the man strapped with several weapons and mutilating a rapist, Peter's spider-sense had been calm around Deadpool.

They were essentially strangers, they knew nothing about one another, had never even had a proper conversation, were on different sides of the law and yet… **yet** , it had been in front of Deadpool that night that Peter had gone from feeling the need to pretend he was strong and capable, to letting his guard down and showing that he had been vulnerable and all on his own. And Deadpool hadn't let him down, hadn't even had the inclination to do anything bad to him as far as Peter's senses had been able to tell, despite the man not having had a single reason to meet Peter's subconscious, childish expectations at the time.

Deadpool had never broken Peter's impulsively assigned trust, Deadpool was…

Deadpool was literally skipping his way along on a building rooftop, almost two blocks away from where Peter had just landed on the building beside the alley from earlier, the man steadily heading _away_ from the direction of the hospital. Peter frowned, blinking a few times, his eye lenses opening and closing twitchily as they tended to do when his eyelid movement was too rapid and human for the robotics to keep up with, his chest squeezing tighter as he realized that despite how quickly he was back, he'd still almost missed seeing Deadpool again, properly.

The idea of not seeing the man again for _years_ made some strange feeling of upset coil in his stomach. And even more so as he considered that maybe Deadpool had known how far the nearest hospital was, had known Peter had intended to come back, and so he was intentionally leaving the scene with so much time to spare in order to avoid Peter.

' _Does he think I'm his enemy?'_ Peter wondered if maybe Deadpool thought it had all been a trick to get him to stay there and be caught red-handed by the police or SHIELD or something. The very idea of the other man thinking Spider-Man would betray Deadpool, when Deadpool had never betrayed Spider-Man, made Peter feel frustrated and agitated.

So he quickly took off after Deadpool, jumping across to the next building –pointedly ignoring looking down to where he knew a mutilated body would be lying dead in the alley- and then jumping down to the side of the building, sticking to the wall of the brick, he quickly began to crawl and leap along the building to catch up to Deadpool. He was trying not to be seen just yet in case Deadpool tried to run off or something. Peter had no idea how fast the guy was, he didn't want to risk losing him in a chase through the Bronx.

He was quicker with his spider leaps and crawling than Deadpool was presently running, skipping and parkouring along the rooftops, so it didn't take long for Peter to catch up, quickly getting close enough to hear that Deadpool was…singing.

He didn't really need to focus too hard to hear what Deadpool was singing, because despite the man not being too loud, it was pretty quiet in the residential-esque streets lined with low level flats and small businesses. So Peter found himself slowing down to the point where he was still hiding somewhat as he crawled and crept along the side of the building, just behind and out of sight of where Deadpool was currently half walking/dancing along the flat gravely rooftop.

"… _like_ _some baby Barbarella, with the stars as her umbrella, she asked me if I'd like to magnetize. Do I have to go star-trekking? 'Cause it's you I should be checking_." Peter watched as Deadpool pointed finger guns in no particular direction as he walked and swayed his hips, " _So she laser beamed me with her cosmic eyes_." the man sang along in a sort of constant falsetto, only dipping his voice lower here and there.

And since Peter's negative emotions were still all over the place, he was surprised to feel the urge to smile as he watched and listened to the dangerously armed, 6 foot something man, who was seemingly enjoying himself a whole heck of a lot, dancing a little more zealously as he falsettoed his way through what sounded like the chorus of whatever song he was singing.

Something about a cosmic girl.

" _I'm scanning all my radars, well_ _,_ _she said she's from a quasar,_ " Deadpool did a tight 360 spin at this point, the gravel of the roof crunching under his boots, before he continued to walk and sing, " _forty thousand million light years away."_ And across the clear space of the rooftop now, Peter caught a glimpse of the music player in his hand, it looked like an older iPod model, from before the blip probably, and he could see no headphones, so Peter assumed Deadpool was using Bluetooth inner-ears under his mask.

" _It's a distant solar system, I tried to phone but they don't list 'em, so I asked her for a number all the same."_ he was fairly close to Deadpool now, only a few meters behind, so he crawled up onto the ledge, stood silently and started walking along the ledge as the man did a two-step sort of dance up ahead of him. And then when Deadpool's demeanor changed suddenly and he stopped walking, Peter abruptly stopping as well, eye lenses wide as he watched Deadpool affect a feminine air about him as he sang the next part in a faux girl's voice,

" _She said, 'step in my transporter, so I can teleport ya'_ _,_ _all around my heavenly body_ '." concluding the moment by pressing his legs –knees and feet as well- close together and stroking his hands fleetingly over his torso and hips.

Peter felt the pleasantly amused laugh bubble up quickly and he couldn't even stop it before it was out of his mouth, so plainly audible that Deadpool heard it immediately and he whipped around and had a very large gun aimed at Peter so quickly that it wiped the smile under his masked face away immediately and he froze.

For the first time ever, his spider-sense flared up, but as quickly as it came on, it fizzled out, because Deadpool recognized him and was holstering his gun almost as quickly as he'd taken it out.

Peter's stomach flipped over and over anxiously at the abrupt rise and then fall of panic brought on by his spider-sense, and he felt nauseous all over again. He hadn't realized he'd raised his hands up, palms opened at shoulder height in surrender, until Deadpool started to hum the tune of the song he was listening to, as he casually started to approach Peter across the open distance between them.

Peter swallowed against his still warring emotions, most recently topped off with a moment of enjoyment and then fresh panic which was now tapering off into nervousness. He awkwardly dropped his hands and hopped off the ledge onto the roof proper, walking slowly to meet Deadpool halfway, and he really didn't know why, but there was no hesitation in his movements as he reached up and pulled his mask off.

Deadpool faltered though, several steps away, his humming cutting off when the mask came off, and Peter briefly wondered, concern flaring up again, if maybe he shouldn't have taken his mask off. If maybe Deadpool hadn't actually remembered what he looked like…

But then Deadpool was suddenly grinning beneath his very expressive mask, white eyes narrowing and spandex stretching over his jaw as he started singing,

" _Sends me into hyperspace, when I see his pretty face_ _._ _Sends me into hyperspace, when I see his pretty face…_ "over and over to the songs rhythm, still in that oddly good falsetto as he closed the distance left between them, coming to stand so much taller and broader than Peter would ever be, only just two feet away.

And **of course** Peter noticed the new gender pronoun Deadpool was using in the song he'd previously been singing about a cosmic _girl_ , and holy crap did his face heat up fast. He actually felt his skin prickle at how hotly he blushed, and he ducked his head so that some of his hair fell over his forehead in sweat-damp curls. His stomach also flipped over again, although in an entirely different and pleasant way this time, which Peter couldn't help but notice as being _new_ to him.

He wanted to smile too, and it was _really_ difficult to keep it to just a subtle twitching of his lips, directed down at the boots of their respective suits. Deadpool trailed off from singing then, his voice easing into a low, deep chuckle. The music cut off then as the taller man tapped a button on his iPod, the tune Peter had been able to hear now, up close as they were, that had been playing in Deadpool's Bluetooth earphones, was no longer audible.

So it was just the quiet between them, and it was _really_ quiet, with only the natural sounds of very distant traffic, people in their apartments with their windows open, the light evening wind and sparse trees on the sidewalks. And all at once the seriousness of the night and all of those conflicting and complicated feelings came rushing back to Peter, his body was still so tense and his heart beat sounding loud in his still warm ears and he could still clearly recall the sound of the girl's sobs, playing over and over in the back of his mind, the sight of her…

…and of Deadpool, his steady voice and the feeling of his grounding hand and his sure directions as he helped both that girl and Peter get it together and get moving.

As he stared down at their feet, he couldn't help thinking back again to years ago, when Deadpool had sent him home safely...comparing it painfully to the betrayal of Beck and how the man had actively tried to kill him and all of his friends, remorselessly, so cold. A stark contrast to Deadpool who stood before him now and once again made Peter feel like he could be vulnerable and it'd be okay.

He didn't realize his eyes were wet until the sound of his own sniffing had him blinking so that the trapped moisture was felt on his eyelashes, threatening to wet his cheeks.

' _Jesus Parker, don't be so pathetic.'_ he mentally scolded himself and was about to bring a hand up to roughly rub away his almost shed tears, but before he could, the cool, smooth tips of Deadpool's gloved fingers were lightly tapping up under his chin once, but without any pressure, for him to look up.

"Hey, you okay, Spidey?" he asked quietly.

At that question, Peter sniffed again, head still ducked down as his eyebrows drew together, realizing that he felt like he didn't have it in him to lie and say _yes_ , but he didn't know whether Deadpool would appreciate him admitting to not being okay, to being anything but okay.

After all, they still barely knew one another.

"Spidey?" Deadpool tried again, sounding questioning, so Peter chose to give an unrelated answer, hoping to change the subject,

"Peter." the word barely made it out of his dry throat, so he cleared it and said again, "I'm Peter."

Deadpool didn't immediately respond, a drawn out moment of silence and another downward sniff from Peter passing, in which the older man shifted on his feet. Peter watched as the man's dirty, scuffed, blood-spattered boots moved a fraction against the gravel, the toe-ends just centimeters away from his own cleaner, smaller and narrower boots; another obvious contrast in their sizes.

Then Peter was pulled back from the spacy haze of exhausted sadness he was sinking into when Deadpool said,

"Alright then. Are you okay, _Peter_?" and the way he said Peter's name, as if it was a name he was glad to know, attached to a person he was fond of while somehow still sounding like it was the first **special** time he was saying it, made Peter raise his head and look up, first up at Deadpool's clavicle, which was eye level for him, and then after he swallowed thickly, he tipped his head back somewhat to look into the white eyes of Deadpool's mask.

He opened his mouth to say the expected 'yes' to Deadpool's question, but found that all words were stuck in his throat under the gaze of Deadpool's expressive mask, which clearly showed what appeared to be serious concern through the shape and the lines around his eyes.

Deadpool was a stranger to him and yet the man really seemed to care.

And Peter didn't want to be naïve and make another _stupid_ mistake like he had with Beck, but the thought of Deadpool, who hadn't betrayed him or hurt in the first place, made it hard for him to believe that he would be making a mistake by trusting the man. But he was so scared to trust...because if he was wrong then people he cared about would get hurt _again_. And he'd already been stupid and given Deadpool his name! Dammit!

He felt panic well up in him quickly as he struggled silently with the fear that he was fucking up again, that somehow he was putting everyone he cared about in danger, all the while staring up into Deadpool's mask as his heart and head pounded but his spider-sense remained silent and…

…and…

…and then Deadpool's hands, large and sure, came up to settle on either of his shoulders as the man said,

"Take a breath, Baby Boy, you're looking real pale right now." in a quiet, calming tone, his hands big enough that his thumbs splayed so they were settled and shifting in idle strokes into the dip of Peter's throat and along his collar bones.

That touch, confusingly familiar and inappropriately intimate for two people who didn't even know one another, was not only grounding, but was also the furthest thing from unwelcome for Peter. Something about the touch broke through Peter's paranoia and the quickly stacking up fear of trusting and he felt the tension bleed from him, his whole body just _lean_ _ing_ into the grounding presence of Deadpool.

He gave into the sad ache squeezing his chest, an ache that seemed ever present, but was more pronounced after the night he'd just had, and the next thing he knew he had his arms up and circling Deadpool's torso, hands splaying flat at the middle of the man's back as Peter stepped forward into the older man's personal space and pressed his forehead to Deadpool's chest. He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, determined at the very least that he wouldn't start crying.

His breath hitched though, painfully catching in his chest when Deadpool removed his hands from his shoulders, the man's body becoming stiff and inevitably…Deadpool didn't hug him back. Subconsciously Peter had known it would be like this. Aside from having always been bit of a hugger, ever since becoming Spider-Man he tended to _want_ to make connections with other supers, to find someone to relate to who might understand what it was like. But whenever he'd tried in the past it had been imbalanced, because to all the supers he knew or had known, he was _just a kid_. And Beck hadn't even been a super, he'd just been an asshole, and even to him, Peter had been _just_ _a kid_ who he'd found easy to manipulate.

And now Peter was reaching for a connection with a friggen stranger. And it _hurt_ to have it rejected, even though he'd known that it would be, because how could it not? It always would be…because he wasn't equal enough, or old enough, or serious enough and whatever else people found lacking in him. And he knew he had to let go of Deadpool, not just figuratively, but also _literally_.

His heart was pounding in his ears again, face hot with embarrassment where it was settled scarce inches from Deadpool's chest, his forehead sticky with sweat and stress where it was pressed against the spandex of the older man's suit.

"I'm s-sorry…" he breathed out through clenched teeth, eyes still tightly shut as he sniffed again, about to extract himself from the man's personal space, fully prepared to flee gracelessly at a running pace from this new humiliation. Just another shitty thing to add to the list after Beck making a fool of him and MJ deciding to bail on him and his issues and…

"You don't gotta' be sorry, you did what you could for that girl." Deadpool was speaking, his voice somehow much louder with Peter being face to chest with him. And Peter's eyes opened slowly before widening when he felt the shift and weight of Deadpool's arms coming up around his back and shoulders, pulling him those few inches closer so that Peter had to turn his face to be cheek to chest with Deadpool lest his nose get squashed. "You can never really make something that ugly any better, it is what it is, all you can do is help however you can..." Deadpool said, and then he kept talking.

He was saying more reassuring things, but Peter found the words being tuned out in favour of focusing on the steady, if somewhat faster than normal, thudding of Deadpool's heart inside the man's broad chest, beneath where Peter's ear was pressed…against firm muscle clad in tight spandex and leather, muscle that was surrounding him in the form of Deadpool's arms, his chest…

And then there was the length of their bodies pressed together; he could feel all the rest of Deadpool's front –thighs, abs, pouches, weapon straps and holsters-, the older man's masked mouth was gently leaned against Peter's head and hair, while the man's hands were firmly settled on one of Peter's shoulders and one of his flanks, in a way he was almost engulfing Peter due to their size and height difference.

There was just no space left between them like when Peter had unsurely and awkwardly hugged Deadpool, because the man had closed that gap when he'd returned Peter's hug. And it was _very_ different than any hug Peter had had before, different in that it made him blush all over again for a different reason, even as his eyes slipped closed and his hands found the straps of Deadpool's sword holsters and clutched at them tightly.

His hugs with May, Tony, Ned, Happy, Pepper…none of them had ever been like this. Peter knew the difference clearly, and while he'd initially been going for that comforting, mostly superficial sort of embrace, an 'it'll be okay' hug, _this_ , the way Deadpool and him were pressed close, _this_ was not that kind of hug.

No…Peter wasn't actually being hugged, he was being _held_. And while those words sort of meant the same thing, the closeness and intimacy of the action itself varied greatly.

Even when he'd held MJ and she'd held him it hadn't felt this way for him, but Peter could only really figure that that was because MJ was not a 6 foot something wall of solid muscle…but wow, it felt…it felt…really nice. _Really_ nice.

He'd sunken so comfortably into the man's arms; the warmth of him, feel of him, the lull of his voice and thud of his heart, the faint scent of cologne mixed with stronger smells of copper, leather and oiled metal, that it took Peter a while to resurface from the new pleasant haze. And when he did regain more awareness of himself, he realized that the lump in his throat was gone, the urge to cry abated, the tension in his body eased, the pounding in his head was absent…but he was still warm from a lingering blush, which he knew likely wouldn't go away as long as they were pressed close enough that his feet were between Deadpool's and he could feel the definition of the older man's ripped abdominal muscles against his sternum.

Spandex really was not very thick.

And **that** thought reminded him of how thin, tight and revealing his own suit was, and had him wondering how aware Deadpool was of it…after all, along with the other memories of his first encounter with Deadpool, he clearly recalled the man having indirectly mentioned being _attracted_ to Spider-Man.

Peter hadn't been a man at the time though…but now-…

" _Fuck_ , your hair smells nice." the absently spoken whisper from Deadpool had Peter's eyes popping open again and his face flushing a bright new shade of red. Peter found himself smiling slightly, despite trying to stop himself from grinning like a dope, and he mumbled,

"Thanks." his cheek still pressed against Deadpool's chest, "I can tell you what shampoo it is, if you want to try it?" and maybe it was ridiculous to say something like that in a moment that should be super awkward, but that was just it, Peter didn't feel awkward, because Deadpool was still _holding_ him, was still breathing softly against Peter's hair through the mask.

Deadpool's reaction though, a quiet humorless laugh, made Peter frown, and then he was saying,

"Shampoo is wasted on me, Baby Boy." in a dismissive tone before he began to withdraw from the embrace. Peter let go too and stepped back, because he had to, because the…whatever that had been, had run its course and it had to come to an end. He ignored how the cool night air felt so crisp all along the front of his body as they stepped apart, and how a new sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

He had to wonder if this was more than just the end of a moment of closeness between them, or would he never see the man again. ' _Shit, we didn't even talk about…anything._ ' and he'd been so pleasantly lost in being held close that he hadn't heard much of anything Deadpool had been saying to him.

He frowned, hating that he was like this, that he couldn't stay focused on important things, that he didn't pay enough attention to what was necessary, that his emotions still got the better of him, that-…

"You're too young to be frowning so much." Deadpool said with a sigh, and Peter went cross-eyed briefly when Deadpool tapped at the crease between his eyebrows.

"I'm not young." Peter blurted, and then tried to clarify, "I am young, I guess, but not…I mean…I was younger, you know, like too young, when we first met…but n-not…not anymore-…"

"Not too young, anymore, huh." Deadpool repeated and Peter stopped rambling, meeting Deadpool's masks eyes, "Not too young for what exactly?" the older man asked in a tone of voice that was all at once amused and very, very suggestive as he placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head. Peter's face had still been red from before and it was getting redder again now as his own words, and then Deadpool's response, sunk in.

And yeah, he'd done it again, hadn't focused on the important stuff, on having a real conversation with Deadpool. He had let what he was feeling and thinking – and what even was he thinking?!- lead him along and had word vomited his way into a situation he was 110% unsure of how to navigate.

What was he supposed to say now? Was this flirting? Would returned flirtation be received well? Did he know how to flirt? Did he want to flirt? Was Deadpool even serious or was he going to make fun of Peter if he tried to flirt? Did Deadpool even…

Deadpool.

Peter had been avoiding eye contact, awkwardly shifting his hands from his hips to pat against the outside of his thighs to rubbing his hand along his other forearm, to fidgeting with the mask he still held, but just when the last thought occurred to him, he looked up at Deadpool again and decided to ask,

"Your name is Wade, right?" since he'd never had it confirmed, having always personally vetoed asking any of the Avengers about Deadpool or hacking into SHIELD files to look the man up.

If the sudden change of subject bothered the man he didn't show it, instead he just nodded once and then took a step back before raising and lowering his hands while he took a short bow at the waist,

"Wade Wilson, the one, the only." he stood up straight again, having taken that step back now leaving more space between them, Peter couldn't help but notice. "But you knew that, right? Being an Avenger and all that." Deadpool gestured at Peter with a wave of his gloved hand.

"Well, yeah," Peter frowned and tipped his head before shaking it slightly, "or no, actually." Deadpool's, or rather Wade's, masked eyebrow rose and Peter tried to clarify, "Well, like, I did, I did know it was Wade, or I guessed as much after hearing you say it to Dopinder years ago, but, uh, I didn't know anything through the Avengers, cause like, I n-never told any of them that I even, that I even met you that night on Coney Island." he raised his eyebrows and shrugged as he looked at Wade.

The man just stared at him for a moment and then shrugged as well,

"Okay." in a skeptical way, like he didn't really understand Peter's life choices, and Peter couldn't be offended because he didn't understand most of his life choices either. "Still though," Wade affected a confused expression, "I thought for sure ol' Iron Dick would have given you a Deadpool blanket warning," Peter flinched at how Wade referred to Tony, "The whole ' _stay away from that insane mercenary, he can't be trusted'_ spiel." he said it like it was amusing but the small chuckle that followed was hollow.

Peter's focus was elsewhere though, and took a split second to try to swallow down his disapproval, but he was still sore about his mentor kind-of-father-figure dying and so he said as firmly as he could,

"Don't insult Mister Stark, man. He was a hero." he frowned up a Deadpool, not unaware of the fact that he sounded more imploring than scolding.

Pathetic as he was, he'd just made what he hoped was a successful connection with another super, one who hopefully wouldn't kid-zone him, and he didn't want to ruin that by starting a disagreement.

Wade however, didn't even miss a beat over Peter's statement,

"Hell fucking yeah, he was a hero," he said enthusiastically, and then just as enthusiastically he added, "doesn't mean he wasn't a dick." he stated very matter of factly, like it was the plainest most obvious thing in the world.

And…really, when Peter thought about how many people had had a problem with Tony, and hadn't liked Tony's attitude, and had called him an arrogant asshole in the media and even to his face, if the stories Peter had been regaled with over the years by the other supers and heroes –told in good humor but no less true- were anything to judge by, then yeah, Tony probably fit that label pretty well. Heck, Peter had seen firsthand how Tony got off on the wrong foot with Doctor Strange straight off the bat.

Shit.

"Y-yeah, I guess I can't argue that." he conceded quietly to himself, although Wade definitely heard him because he airily said ' _nobody can argue that_ ', and then Peter's mind was backtracking and he recalled **all** of what Wade said,

"You're a mercenary?" he asked, tone pitching slightly with surprise. Wade raised an index finger,

"Uh, uh, not **a** mercenary, Petey. **The** Mercenary." he lowered his finger and raised his hands palm up as if presenting himself, "World class, every mark guaranteed, does not negotiate price or pound of flesh, the Merc with a Mouth, Deadpool." he completed his self-introduction, grinning under his mask as he lowered his hands again and then he tilted his head, "Why, what did you think I was?" he sounded genuinely curious to know.

Peter briefly averted his eyes, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his crumpled mask absently, as he considered that question, because he honestly hadn't before now. He'd never really known what to think of Deadpool, all he'd known was the man was a killer who seemed to kill only bad guys.

"I guess, uh, I guess I thought you were some kinda' vigilante." he concluded, looking at Wade again with a confused frown, not sure whether or not finding out the man was a contract killer upset him or not.

Wade made a sound that suggested 'vigilante' wasn't entirely wrong,

"Kinda-sorta-maybe there's something vigilante-esque about what I do." he suggested, tone light and amused, "I mean, I only fuck up and unalive the worst of the fucking worst cocksucking, dirtbag criminals around, keeping the streets a little cleaner by taking out all the world's worst. The sort of villains that fancy-pants, highbrow heroes won't touch and that the law can't touch." he leaned down and a little closer to Peter, who was watching and listening intently to him, "Essentially, sweetums, I do the _dirty_ work; the ugly stuff that heroes and the law can't get to because of **all** that public image, corruption and red tape bullshit." he brought his hands up, using the index fingers and thumbs on both hands to make a box shape in front of Peter's face, "Hero types, like yourself, the Avengers, the Fantastic Few, the X-people, yada yada, you all operate in a box." he dropped his hands again and turned away from Peter, moving his hands as he continued to talk, "Once every few years the Avengers and/or company save the planet, save billions of people, or in a once off especially out of this world case, trillions. They make a big splash, reestablish their herdodom and so on, you get it, right, that sort of thing," he waved his hands and then turned around again, "the really big stuff. While day in and day out, thousands of people, thousands of kids, women and men, are trafficked for sex, slavery, drugs, genetic experimentation." Peter noticed the darker tone that was lacing Deadpool's words as he went on, a tone that was rather distinctively intimidating, "Not to mention how often I come across shit just like what happened earlier." even through the mask Peter could tell that Wade's jaw was tightly clenched, but his tone was still trying for light and amused when he finished with, "Heh, I tried the hero gig for a very short while Spidey, but it just wasn't for me."

Peter had watched him silently, absorbing Wade's words, but it wasn't difficult to take in the information considering he'd been thinking along similar lines about Deadpool earlier that evening when the man had been dealing with that rapist.

Deadpool took in a deep breath when he was done and then let it out, somehow easily shaking off the darker atmosphere that had descended before he smiled beneath his mask again,

"Anyway, the only difference between me and a vigilante is that I get paid to do what I do."

That made sense, still though...Peter glanced down at the rooftop gravel, frowning slightly as he asked,

"Earlier…was that, was that rape- that uh, that guy, a m-mark?" because that would mean Deadpool hadn't just happened by like Peter had, and if no one had paid Deadpool to be there, then both of them would have been too late. Later than they already had been.

"That cuntbag? Hah!" he laughed out loud and rather theatrically, "No, no no, Petey, that shitswizzle was just in the wrong place for him, at the right fucking time for me." he clarified with gleeful and harsh punctuation. And Peter instantly felt better knowing that it hadn't been just a job; knowing that Deadpool would help someone whether or not he was getting paid for it.

That meant something to him. Strangely, it meant a whole lot of something to him.

He nodded unconsciously, smiling slightly even as he felt pain in his chest all over again for that poor girl,

"I'm glad you were there, because…" he paused, took a quiet breath, "...because I wouldn't, I would have been too late, and if you hadn't…th-then she…" his throat was tightening up again and he ducked his head, "…and then how you handled it, I…I didn't do so great t-tonight…"

God, he really needed to get his shit together. He had to wonder if it was something about being around Wade that made him feel like he could be a sobbing loser and get away with it. What the actual hell?!

The emotion in his voice and tension returning to his shoulders brought Wade closer again though, and it was weird how that detail made Peter feel better. Feel relieved.

"Hey, come on now, Baby Boy, like I said before, you can only do what you can, when you can, as best as you can, and the rest of the time life will royally fuck you even for your best efforts." Peter heard him say that now, but he hadn't heard him say it earlier, because Wade had been holding him and his brain had been focused on and cataloguing other things. "And I know it ain't a Captain America-like pep talk, but I prefer to do real talk because all that sugar coating only fucks shit up worse, you know. There's not much good in knowing how to be prepared for what's up shit creak when someone keeps telling you about some silver fucking lining because, Baby Boy, ain't nothing any other colour than brown when you're up shit creak." he said emphatically, "And not the rich, sweet chocolate brown like your pretty hair, no, that nasty brown, like the disgusting deluge of sewerage that comes out of those porta potty's after a three day music festival."

Peter didn't even know how to respond to all that other than with a half laugh-half sob, looking up at Wade to where the man was standing closer again, quiet now, and watching him. Just watching him. Peter suddenly wished that he could see Wade's eyes…his whole face actually, wished that he'd take that mask off, that'd he'd let Peter see him the same way he was seeing Peter.

He was about to ask Wade about taking his mask off when the man, looking intently into Peter's face with that same concerned expression, started talking again,

"Holy-fucking-batballs, how are you so fucking pretty when you look like you're about to cry. I know for fact that ain't a kink of mine, but Jesus Christ..." he said in a confused and amazed whisper, and then shaking his head once as if to clear it, he added in a quiet but serious tone, "I really, really don't want you to cry though, Baby Boy, contrary to how confused my libido is right now." he sounded sincere enough about that, "What can I do? You want me to hold you again?" Deadpool's masked face looked both hopeful and distressed and Peter just stared up at him, face growing hot again and his mouth falling open in astonishment as the man went on, "Because, not gonna lie, I abso-fucking-lutely would not mind that because hot- _dayum_ , it felt good, but full disclosure, you check all my boxes Spidey; pretty brown hair and eyes, perfect ass and a **tight** body **,"** he emphasized that last part very specifically as he looked over the length of Peter with zero subtlety before tipping his head back and looking up at the sky, cursing softly. Then he was back, looking down at Peter as he said, "And with all of that on top of the fact that you declared you're old enough now, and that alone got me more than halfway to horny, I'll definitely get a boner if you press that body up against me again." he paused only very briefly, "So, where does that leave us on the 'should I hold you again' idea?" he frowned questioningly through the mask.

He had seemingly concluded...finally, and Peter was…wow, Peter's face felt hotter than ever and he knew he was redder than a tomato, a glowing tomato. He was horrifyingly unprepared for all _that_ , while also feeling flattered and weightless in his tummy at Wade's blatant compliments and admission of that attraction Peter had always suspected him of having, and the whole thing, the whole moment was so unbelievable…that all Peter could do was blink up at the man a few times before cracking a nervous, frowning smile, stunned and feeling amused disbelief,

"Uh…that's…" he managed, as he awkwardly made an aborted motion to touch his sweat damp, untidy nest of hair with his free hand, wondering what on earth was pretty about his plain, unruly brown hair, or his eyes for that matter. Heck, they weren't even hazel brown, they were just brown-brown. As for his ass…?

Deadpool's mouth had dropped open beneath his mask and he was just staring down at Peter while Peter looked up at him between glances around, and after a beat of no other words being forthcoming Wade's hand came up and very barely touched Peter's face, even as his thumb ghosted without actual contact along the curve of Peter's lingering smile.

He'd even forgotten that he was smiling.

Wade nodded to himself then, saying softly,

"Yep, a smile is definitely, _definitely_ better than tears. Pretty as a picture." and Peter's heart thudded sorely in his chest, his smile becoming insecure and shy at those words because **what** was he supposed to say to that.

Peter blinked his gaze away from the man's white mask eyes to his masked mouth and then dropped his gaze to Wade's chest as he tried to figure out how to respond. A part of Peter could barely believe what had just been said to him, _any_ of it, and another inexperienced and never before considered part of him wished he knew what he should say in return, wished he knew how to react to what Wade had been saying. Wished he knew how to do that…positively, encouragingly. Because for all that he'd never been on the receiving end of such blatant attention, and _never_ in any way at all from another man, had never even considered another man in the way Wade clearly considered him, Peter could be honest enough with himself to admit that he didn't mind it. Wasn't bothered by it. He liked how he had butterflies in his stomach for the first time since getting together with MJ in high school.

He didn't even mind the adjective 'pretty' that Wade had said several times now in reference to him. MJ had called him pretty a few times over the years, too. Phrases like ' _you done making yourself look pretty_?' and ' _hurry your pretty ass up, we're gonna be late_ ', but he'd always thought she was joking with that word. Using it just for the sake of using it. Just like when people called him a 'pretty boy' on rare occasion in high school, at university or in passing, it was usually intended somewhat negatively or at least not as a compliment. But each time Wade said it…he sounded like he really thought so.

And hey, pretty was just a frillier word for good looking, right? The only person who had ever called him handsome and good looking was May, which wasn't really saying much. He hoped Wade meant it like that though, as in he thought Peter was good looking. He hoped…he hoped Wade really thought he was attractive, specifically that Wade was attracted to him.

He wanted that, he realized abruptly; he _wanted_ Wade to like him like that.

Peter didn't know why, or where the feelings were coming from, but he knew it meant that he liked Wade _like that_. That was kind of how both of his crushes had started, Liz and MJ; a sudden realization that he liked them…followed by his awful, awkward, stilted attempts at asking them out.

God, he **did** not want it to be that way with Wade.

If he liked Wade, which yeah, he was really sure he did, or he probably would have been offended by all the man's forward comments and attention by this point, then it had to be different. It couldn't take a year, like it had with Liz, or several near death experiences and misunderstandings like it had with MJ, he just had to…

_Snap_

He had to…

_Snap_

"…ete, you okay? You still with me?" Wade was snapping his fingers, trying to get his attention.

' _Shit, I have to quite spacing out like that_.' he thought, feeling frustrated as he nodded at Wade,

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just…super, s-super tired."

Wade half shrugged, half nodded,

"Yeah, it's super fucking late," he tipped his head "or early; either way, sweet dreams and unicorns await." he laughed softly, and was about to say something else but Peter had to say something first, he had to be a little bolder; he had to stop _stopping_ himself from doing things.

He had to make the first big move for once in his life.

"Yeah, s'late,. And so, hey, you, uh…will you, you know…" Wade was listening, he was listening like Peter was going to say something important and suddenly Peter felt leagues away from the confidence he'd mentally built up a moment earlier, so he made sounds of aborted attempts as if he were still a bumbling teenager, "…uha, um, so-hm, its, er," and then finally settled on a very general and very platonic sounding, "will I, will I see you, a-around, again, around again, the city. Around the city again?"

' _Uuuugh'_ he mentally groaned, because _what_ even was that?

He was just grateful this _wasn't_ high school or university where the answer would be an obvious yes and he'd look like a total dumbass. New York was massive, so that question wasn't the worst -completely not what he wanted to say- thing that he could have said. Jeez, he was an idiot. How was he still so bad at this? Although, it's not like he had much practice.

Peter stopped mentally spazzing long enough to realize that Wade was just staring at him, mask unreadable. And the while Peter had been feeling better about the evening, actually not feeling so shitty about everything that had happened, the quiet stare Wade was giving him now was starting to make him feel like something was wrong again.

His spider-sense was still completely calm though. So he just had no idea-

"You want that?" Wade asked curiously, "You actually _want_ to see me again?"

Peter frowned at the question, but he could understand why Wade was asking in that tone of confusion. After all, Peter knew there were plenty of reasons why Spider-Man shouldn't want to be around a very armed, very dangerous mercenary who was very much on the wrong side of the law that he tried to live by and represent personally and through the Avengers.

But none of that felt like it mattered when what he had experienced and witnessed of Deadpool painted the picture of a man who had the potential to be hero, but who was still doing really well as a kind of anti-hero. The world needed different kinds of heroes at the end of the day. Deadpool was just a different kind of hero as far as Peter was concerned.

And yeah, Peter had made a lot of mistakes and shitty choices, but the decision he'd made to keep meeting Deadpool a secret years ago was one of the very, very few things it turned out hadn't been a mistake for him, and he wanted it to mean something.

He wanted a connection that he could trust.

Plus, well, he'd totally developed a _super-fast_ crush on a **guy** for the first time, and he wanted that experience too. Surely he could have this one thing? It'd been a while since he'd taken a chance on something, on someone? And he wanted it to be okay and safe and trustworthy for once…maybe he even needed it, he definitely needed it.

"Y-yeah, I do, Wade, I…" he swallowed thickly and felt his barely cooled ears heat up again as he prepared to say _I like you_. But then the sound of police sirens could be heard faintly in the distance but getting louder quickly. Peter looked in the direction of the sirens but then whipped his head back to Wade when the man announced,

"Weeeell, that's my queue to jet, Spidey. You should too actually; can't have Spider-Man be seen anywhere _near_ the mess I left back there." he was laugh-talking and Peter looked to the direction of the alley from earlier with a dubious glance when Wade said, "All the kings horses, men and their baby mama's are not going to be able to put that shitstain back together, hooo boy!" he sounded quite gleeful about that.

Peter knew he should have been more disturbed about what Wade had just said, but really, he'd kind of expected as much after what he'd seen of the news years ago on the Expressway and Coney Island. Also, he was completely distracted by the fact that Wade was already walking away toward the fire escape ladder at the edge of the building several meters away.

There had been no decision made to see one another again and Peter _really_ hated the idea that he wouldn't see Wade for years again. It made his stomach feel heavy with disappointment and dread. He bit his lip and took a half a step forward, chest rising with the breath he intended to use to call Wade back, to ask about meeting up, but his enhanced hearing made the sirens sound even louder and he could now hear people gathering in the street down below...and Wade's retreating figure was all the way across the building now.

His chest deflated and he exhaled loudly, all the weight that had been suspended during his time with Wade settling heavily again into his body. He swallowed sorely and pursed his lips as he looked down at his mask. Slowly he turned it over in his hands so he could put it back on the right way, and with his jaw clenched he muttered to himself,

"Probably didn't want to see me again…m'older, sure, but m'still just a **kid**." he huffed irritably, eyes burning and chest hurting. With a final sigh and sniff, Peter pulled his mask on and walked a few steps before breaking into a run and jumping onto the next building, seeing the taller buildings in the distance where he could start webbing his way back through Manhattan and toward Queens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Wade is singing is Cosmic Girl by Jamiroquai.


	5. You're no tailor, you're no surgeon, none of your cuts go very straight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue? 
> 
> Anyone who has read the Deadpool comics will recognize how am adapting Deadpool's comic-self into the story and mixing it with movie Deadpool's story. But it should still be pretty clearly DP even if you haven't read his comics.
> 
> NB: Not beta read, all errors are mine.
> 
> WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE

* * *

_...every new layer you uncover reveals something else you hate._

* * *

He didn't cry when he got home, but it was a near thing as everything that happened that night came rushing back to him. The awful events from before his post-crime conversation with Wade started playing in his mind like a film reel not even five minutes after he was alone inside his quiet apartment.

It was bad, it always was in that muted way things became after being exposed to it enough, but since he didn't want to think about Deadpool and the unspoken rejection, he welcomed feeling the usual emotional pain rather than the new. However, it proved impossible not to be reminded of Deadpool when, after he pulled off his mask in front of the large mirror in the bright lighting of his bathroom, he saw a smear of dried blood under his chin…from where Wade had touched his face just once and very briefly.

After noticing that, the rest of the blood on his suit became glaringly obvious and his breath left his lungs in a rush as he looked down at himself, hands rising away from his sides, his mask slipping from his fingers to land on the floor. The front of his suit had dark stains and smears on the fabric, and as he turned side to side looking at his reflection again, he saw that his left shoulder and right flank had bloody partial handprints. The blood was in all the places where he'd been pressed up against Wade when…when Wade had held him.

Breathing slightly escalated, the tears did come then, Peter abruptly hitting the spider symbol on his chest to loosen his suit before he quickly yanked it down and off and stepped out of it, kicking it away from himself into the corner of the bathroom. He couldn't deal with _that_ right then; he couldn't deal with washing a dead rapist's blood out of his suit. Jesus, it was on his face too!

He rushed into the shower next, blasting himself with mostly hot water and proceeding to scrub at his face and hair first with his liquid body soap, washing away the tears absently slipping out of his eyes. After more washing than necessary, he moved on to wash his body but his mind was still playing the evening back, and the scent of the liquid soap was no match for the strength of his sense memory, which chose that moment to remind him of the sharp smell of copper that had been present when he and Wade had been pressed together.

Peter had overlooked it at the time because he'd been trying to focus on the faded scent of cologne on leather, which he could also recall quite clearly...and right then his senses were confusing his body, and he felt both nauseous and warm all over –in a way that had nothing to do with the hot water. Just thinking about Wade and all of the conflicting feelings he had about the man made him feel uncertain and stressed, and yet still interested. Because it had felt so nice to be held by him, so personal and enveloping and...and just _more_ than any other hug Peter had had before.

But the blood, ugh. And knowing how it had gotten all over Wade. Double ugh! And knowing whose blood it was, triple uuuugh!

He couldn't help washing himself everywhere twice more for good measure, and by the time he was finally down, he was super exhausted, a little dizzy from the too-hot water and just overall feeling shitty. He stumbled out of the bathroom and managed to dry off and dress himself, and mentally resolving to deal with his suit much, much later, he went ahead and collapsed onto his bed, curling up around the first pillow he could grab and waiting for exhaustion to take him.

And if he cried a little more on the way to sleep, well, no one would know.

It wasn't like it was the first time.

* * *

Wade was used to his own company.

In the five-year aftermath of the snap, he'd become very accustomed to the sound of his own voice, more so than he had been before when he'd used to run his mouth at everyone else, but instead he got used to talking to just himself, which had been as satisfactory as it was unsettling most of the time.

He'd also gotten used to staying at home for days or weeks on end, only going out once in a while when he needed something, or taking a job where he was gone for weeks or months at a time. He got used to returning home to NY where nothing awaited him other than a fat stack of cash and maybe a quick on-the-house drink at Hellhouse from Patch for 'not fucking up'. After which, he'd return to whatever empty shithole apartment he was freestyling in at the time, he'd maybe order some take-out, watch television or pornography too loudly. If his mind wasn't too chaotic and he was able to get it up, he'd masturbate –sometimes two or three times if it'd been a while and he felt like it-, and then he'd either be able to fall asleep or he'd blow his brains out, because that was always an effective way to kill some time…haha, get it? _Kill_ some time.

Yeah, so anyway, that had become routine for him.

He hadn't had friends, he hadn't tried to make any either after the snap, and outside of his head and his privacy, he'd honestly began failing at living up to his moniker of 'merc with a mouth'; not counting the amount of trash he talked when he was killing some sorry, shitstain mark of course. But nah, he hadn't wanted to talk, and he hadn't wanted to take his mask off around anyone and force himself to pretend like he was okay with it either. He'd rarely ever looked at himself in mirrors when he'd been with Vanessa post-pizzaface makeover, but during the snap? All mirrors in his personal space were either removed or covered before he'd have the chance to smash them when he got pissed off. Or they'd end up smashed before he could cover them. And even though he'd managed to masturbate sometimes, for the most part he hadn't even wanted to more often than not. But it had been his preferred method of release, pretty much ever since after Vanessa died, because the alternative required there being another human being present, and aside from how soliciting sex usually didn't work out well for him, Wade hadn't actually _wanted_ to be touched.

And not wanting to be touched was a feeling that still remained, six years and some change later.

He wasn't sure if it was psychosomatic or some other mental fuck up in his brain, but for some reason, it _hurt_ to be touched. And not hurt like ' _oh, this asshole bad guy just shot me, ow'_ , or ' _shit, I'm on fire_ ', no, it hurt like…like when you have a really bad flu case, and it hurts just to touch the surface of your skin; that kind of hurt.

Wade hadn't had the fucking flu in years though, and he couldn't get the flu even if he actively went out and tried to catch it, but he remembered it...not from himself after so long, but mostly from when Vanessa used to get the flu and complain about her body and skin aching. She'd never wanted to be touched when she was sick, but of course, she was so fucking hot, Wade couldn't even feel guilty for having tried anyway. Vanessa had never really gotten angry with his attempts at copping a feel when she was fluish, as long as he'd make up for it by doting on her until she was all better. And also because she usually punched him for trying. Being punched had been worth trying to grope Vanessa though, _always_.

And once she'd gotten better, they'd have sex. **All** the sex.

But in the past six years and to the present day, whenever Wade thought of sex, he generally cringed away from the idea. See, when he'd been with Vanessa, his skin had never hurt in any way other than the whole 'perpetual cancer' thing, which had been background noise for the most part since he'd been living with it for so long already. And he'd always enjoyed sex with her, or any kind of intimacy really, he'd never _not_ wanted her hands on him or his hands on her, or to be in one another's arms. He'd always wanted to be close to her, closer than close.

Then she'd died…and he'd been way, way, way, _way_ down. Then Colossus had harassed the fuck out him until he'd kind of-sort-of but not really gotten his shit together. But that harassment had been the catalyst for _actually_ getting his shit together. Then the snap happened, and he'd been way, way, waaaaaay down again. He'd hit depression on a whole new level because not just Vanessa that time, but _everyone,_ had just been **gone** , everyone except him by some super fucked up twist of fate.

It had been a dark, bloody, suicidal and blur filled five years.

It had been mentally and emotionally trying. Pushing him to the limit of hate for his seemingly immortal existence. It had made him wish he had a hundred more Francis' to kill for doing what he did to him. For making it so that he had to _live_ and _live_ and _live_ through and with so much pain and emptiness...

Then all of a sudden, as if he and other people hadn't been left in a terrible limbo after the snap, everyone came back. And while he'd tried to, he just hadn't been able to reconcile quite so easily.

But as you already know, he'd tried his best. Hid away for a year to try and get his head straight, managed to an extent, while failing where it really counted, but still able to fake it in order to make it, and he'd emerged a version of himself that was somewhat socially acceptable. He still often wanted to strangle _everyone_ , or most people anyway, and he often wanted to blow shit up, cut shit in half, break shit down, but those frustrations he managed by taking as many jobs as he could. The differences in who and how he was had affected his relationships with people from before the snap though.

And in the end, it was still his own company he was most accustomed to and preferred.

So now, Wade still had a similar routine.

He still didn't have anyone to come back home to. Sure, his apartment was nicer and cleaner, and he didn't live like a hobo anymore, and he went out regularly for groceries and other items that he'd previously used to buy online. He took better care of himself physically, and over all basically stopped being a gross shut-in. And he talked more again to other people these days, a lot of the time he talked just to fill in silences he'd didn't want to bare, or when he just really didn't want to listen to what someone else had to say.

But he still mostly wanted to be alone, he still preferred to watch TV for hours or play video games or clean his stockpile of weapons while he played too loud music and sang along just as loudly and off-key. He still had a blood-lust the likes of which was more intense than it had ever been since he'd killed Francis. He still opted to masturbate instead of seeking out sex workers…and not even because of the fear of rejection, nope, it was because he _still_ didn't want to be touched.

It had been too long to know if it'd still hurt for someone to touch his skin, but Wade knew from the passing shoulder pats by other mercs and from bumping into people in the now crowded streets or down at Hellhouse, that his skin crawled ten times worse when someone made contact with him.

And it had felt uncomfortable as fuck when Dom had hugged him so long ago, and that had been the last close friendly contact that Wade had had with anyone…

...until Spider-Man.

Or rather, Peter.

From the moment the kid…no, wait, not kid. He wasn't a kid anymore. From the moment Spider-Man had shown up on the scene in that alleyway, he'd kept Wade near constantly surprised and confused. First, because he hadn't jumped straight into physically subduing Wade with either his webs or a superhuman strength beat down, seeing as how Deadpool was, by all general counts, known as a 'bad guy'. Then Spider-Man had gone on to freeze up with uncertainty when dealing with the assault victim. That had surprised Wade, because for fuck sakes, he was Spider-Man and this was New fucking York, rape cases were definitely something the guy would have to have come across previously, right? It had confused Wade like crazy, but he'd handled the situation as he usually would, albeit with a superhero in the mix.

And then Spider-Man had proceeded to shock him again when he left Wade there to kill the motherfucker who'd assaulted that girl, even after Wade had made it crystal-shiny fucking clear that he was indeed going to **kill** the asshole. And **oh** did he ever. The forensics team that got that shitshow to deal with were going to have a bad time when they discovered all of that guy's missing parts were in new and interesting places.

After that little art project and with Spidey gone off to the nearest hospital with the vic, Wade had figured himself safe to make a casual getaway. The Avengers hadn't shown up, nor had any kind of law enforcement, which meant Spider-Man hadn't lied to him and decided to call the police sooner rather than later, so that they could have tried to catch him with the rapist's pants down –and dick missing. He'd been feeling pretty upbeat about the evening's events, after all, he did love killing rapists, and yeah, seeing Spidey properly and not just swinging overhead had really been something.

And not just something hella sexy – although **damn** that suit was _tight_ and so was that _body_ \- but the unexpected appearance had also made him feel something almost _happy_ , dare he call it. He didn't have a lot of good feelings these days. He had good days sure, because getting his hands on new weapons always left him feeling _good_ , and getting a pay day too, those were good feeling moments. Watching Golden Girls still held up too, mind you. But _happiness_ itself? Nah, that had become a foreign concept, _happiness_ in his life was about as long gone as Vanessa was.

The last time he'd felt happy, like _really_ happy, had been the day he'd come home to find out that Vanessa wanted to have a baby with him. Everything 'good' since then had been below that bar, way below it, because of course it would be.

Seeing Spidey though, after so many years since that coincidental meeting on Coney Island, he'd felt the first flicker of happiness in forever. It hadn't been happiness like anything with Vanessa, because that had been a whole different thing compared to whatever kind of acquaintance he had with Spider-Man, but it'd been some kind of happiness all the same.

And he'd been fine to walk away with that feeling, just fine, but then Spider-Man had come after him, and not after him to apprehend him like a superhero should have, but came after him to…to what?

Wade _still_ didn't know, all he did know was that when Spidey took his mask off without hesitation and underneath it he'd looked like a **hot** mess who had clearly matured with age - judging by the lack of teenage softness in his face that had been present the first time Wade saw him, his jawline and cheek bones more defined and sharp now, and his eyes not so bright and innocent anymore–, Wade had momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

He could still recall feeling gross and devastated when having seen just how cute Spider-Man was had happened in the same moment he'd found out that the superhero had been a minor. But seeing how much more attractive he was now that he was an adult, Wade had had to bite back an inappropriate sound of approval.

And then to top it all off, Spider-Man…Peter, had latched onto him, had physically, like, with his body and arms, he'd _hugged_ Wade, embraced him! Had apparently wanted to be close to **him** of all people for some kind of comfort. And Wade had been completely fucking floored. But when the surprise had worn off, something else had become more apparent to him, and that was the distinct _lack_ of aversion he'd felt to being touched in that moment.

Noticing it; noticing that he didn't _mind_ Peter being so close to him, touching him, he'd let out a silent breath and when he'd heard Spider-Man apologize to him, he'd let himself give in and he had wrapped the wall-crawler's lean, slight body in his arms completely. He'd pulled him in and pressed him close, **all** the way close, close in a way he hadn't held anyone since Vanessa, murmuring words to hopefully ease the younger man's distress while allowing himself to enjoy holding someone for the first time in years; holding Spider-Man for the first time ever. And it had felt good, no actually, better than good, more so even when Peter had leaned into it, had become pliant and yielding to Wade's hold, like he'd _really_ wanted to be there.

No pretenses or complicated history between them. And nothing like when Dom had hugged him just because they'd known each other for years and hadn't seen each other in a while and it was a done thing for people to do, despite the fact that they'd never been particularly huggy before the blip.

And maybe that had been the difference, the fact that Peter had _wanted_ Wade to hold and comfort him, because no one besides Vanessa had ever _wanted_ to be physically close to him, touched by him or held by him, not in a friendly or non-platonic way, not since he became Deadpool. And even before the blip, none of the superficial pseudo-affection he'd expressed toward Al, or the exaggerated borderline sexual tactility he'd dole out to Colossus, had been anything other than forced and uneasily reciprocated or just barely tolerated. And of course, before he'd given up on prostitutes, even the ones who hadn't rejected him had preferred that he keep the suit on, minimize all touching and do them from behind to spare them.

So, the difference of Spider-Man _wanting_ to be in his arms, it was obviously a significant factor to how Wade received the contact, it changed _everything_ about it. Or at least that's what he figured when trying to make sense of it.

And yeah, maybe Spider-Man had only found comfort in him because he had no one else at that moment...or in general? That last one was a sad thought...

But whatever the case, it had been nice to feel another body pressed against his and to not feel his skin crawl with discomfort...especially a body like Spider-Man's, all that lean, tight muscle encased in skintight spandex which clung to the cut of his defined musculature, highlighting the lines of sinew and bone, hugging every curve and dip and the rise of that _incredibly_ shapely ass. An ass that Wade had easily seen from his much taller vantage point, looking down past the breadth of Spidey's shoulders in his arms, and the smooth incline of his back to that very, very gropeable butt.

Shit. Wade had found himself wishing he could have _touched_ just as much as he'd wished he hadn't been wearing his mask so he could have felt the softness of Spider-Man's hair against his face. And holy fuck, he'd smelled good too! He'd even said so, hadn't been able to help saying it, and Spider-Man had laughed so softly; he'd been so _okay_ with it all.

Wade had forgotten what all of that had felt like until Spider-Man had brought it all rushing back, and unfortunately, he'd been begun to get too into it after years without touch, i.e. he'd entered potential 'boner territory'. He counted himself lucky Spider-Man had commented on sharing his shampoo choice just when he'd started getting aroused, because it had internally jolted Wade back to reality.

The reality in which he didn't have any hair, and in which he looked like Freddy fucking Kruger under his suit. The reality in which Spider-Man possibly didn't know any of that, and _that_ was probably why he didn't mind being so close, because the younger super probably thought Wade was _normal_ , and not a gross looking freak? Why else, right?

He'd separated himself from Spider-Man as calmly as possible at the time, and the conversation that followed had been somewhat of a rambling, frustrated blur. He'd wanted to just _leave_ because after feeling something more than hollow complacency for the first time in ages, and then being slammed facedown back into reality, he'd gotten a little edgy and his thoughts had meandered toward suicidal. But Spidey had been talking to him, and for whatever reason Wade had felt that was important somehow and he'd stuck around.

Then Spidey had looked closed to tears and Wade had panicked, his mind racing with jumbled feelings of concern, guilt, arousal and protectiveness and it had made him start running his mouth, but that only lasted so long before Spider-Man had said he _wanted_ to see Wade again and suddenly words had failed the famed Merc With A Mouth. After that he'd taken the first opportunity to get the fuck gone, which had come in the form of police sirens. Wade had never imagined he'd be happy to hear that sound!

And he'd known Spider-Man had wanted a response from him, it had been written all over his face, and he'd felt the younger super's eyes on him the entire time as he'd made his way across the rooftop as fast as he could without actually running...but Wade couldn't face that.

Literally.

Because even if Spider-Man was serious about seeing him again, which implied getting to know one another, all that would eventually entail would be _Peter_ wanting _Wade_ to de-mask. And that would be the end of whatever little sweet spot he was currently in where Spider-Man actually seemed to like him, seemed to want to be close to him for whatever reason. And if by some miracle his appearance didn't fuck him over, the rest of his fucked up life would do it. Spider-Man would never be ready for what Deadpool was. That shit just wouldn't line up no way, no how.

So, he'd made his getaway, wanting to keep that happy feeling, fleeting though it probably would be. And he didn't want to taint it with all that ugly reality of what was under his suit, or what his life was like, he didn't want to let Spider-Man know how fucked up he actually was.

By that reasoning, he'd decided it was best that he and Spider-man only saw one another once every few years, and for a short time too, since being as he was immortal, Wade had all the time in the fucking universe to get the rare fix of Spider-Man for however long that lasted.

Maybe though, he'd already fucked it up by leaving Spidey without an answer after a rough night and an unfinished, confusing conversation, but Spidey was young, and so, so pretty, so he'd be fine. He'd meet people who would want to be his friends or lovers and he'd fill his life in a way Wade would never be able to. And that was better.

Spider-Man had the Avengers anyway, and Peter probably had people, too.

And Deadpool? Well, Deadpool was Wade and vice versa, there was no escaping that. And what did he have? He had a special six shooter Magnum waiting for him at the end of every day if he needed it, reliable and committed to him. It had been a while since Wade felt self-loathing and empty enough inside to blow his brains out, but after that night of holding Spider-Man and wanting more, he hadn't hesitated to eat a bullet.

* * *

It was almost three months later before Wade caught sight of Spider-Man in real time again.

There was an explosion at an oil refinery in upper Brooklyn, and as it tended to happen, the biggest concern was the aftermath, after everyone was safely –or not so safely- evacuated, and it was time to try to put the massive fire out and prevent another explosion from happening and yada yada.

Wade, not really one for jumping into the fray when it wasn't necessary, especially when there were numerous people of law enforcement, the fire department, ambulances, and media around, he kept his distance at least two miles out, sitting on a mid-height building, leaning back against the far end short wall of the roof as he watched the flames flare and ebb and the clouds and clouds of dark gray smoke rise into the sky.

It was around 1 PM according to his trusty and die-hard Adventure Time watch, and he was taking a break from the recon he'd been doing all morning on a soon-to-be-dead mark. Chewing contentedly on a bite from a slice of pizza, he was trying to ignore how much he was sweating under his suit in the hot weather of NY mid-summer. Beside him on the ground was the open pizza box, the last few pieces slowly getting cold, and beside the box was a packet containing a few taco's and a bottle of unopened water, which he'd bought just in case he was still thirsty after his soda, which he would be because it was **fucking hot**.

Still, he was in an overall good mood. He had a big pay day coming up and even though he didn't need the money, there was nothing wrong with being even richer, you know?

He was presently listening to music with his old iPod and Bluetooth headphones. He had really tried to find an old portable sized cassette player like he'd used to have after his had finally given out. But it had been more difficult than finding a VCR player, and that had been before the blip. So, Wade had had to cut his losses and had bought an old iPod on sale a long time ago. It wasn't the same, it lacked the good vibes and nostalgic aesthetic that he liked, but it wasn't too bad either. Being on the small side, he could fit it easily into his pouches, but that also meant he couldn't fit that many stickers on its nice flat surface.

It served its purpose though, which right then, was to play back the emotional tune of Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse Of The Heart loud enough that he couldn't hear the sounds of the city.

And he was singing along,

" _And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever_ -" doing his best to hit the high notes even where there were none, " _and if you only hold me tight, we'll be holding on forever!_ " minding his own business, " _And we'll only be making it right, 'cause we'll never be wrong. Together we can take it to the end of the line, your love is like a shadow on me all of the tiiiime!_ " and just as he picked up another slice of a pizza and was about to take a bite out of it, that's when he saw Spider-Man.

After all, Bonnie Tyler could drown out the sounds of the city, but not the sights, and Wade couldn't help but to see Spider-Man come swinging up over the side of the building one over from where he was sitting. More importantly, Wade couldn't help but to see how Spidey hadn't done so with any grace at all, couldn't help having noticed how he'd all but fallen to the surface of the rooftop after letting go of his web thread, couldn't help noticing that the web slinger wasn't popping back up into view over the short wall of the building he'd landed on.

At first, in the split second of seeing Spider-Man, he'd dropped his pizza slice haphazardly into the box and had pulled his mask down, sitting stiff and paranoid that Spider-Man might see his face if the other super happened to notice him and come over. But after not seeing Spider-Man get back up, Wade unfroze and got to his feet, switching off the music as he started to walk toward the edge of the roof nearest to the next building.

And with the music switched off, he was able to hear coughing, the kind of harsh coughing that came with smoke inhalation, and it was coming from exactly where Spidey had landed and not gotten back up. Glancing to the billowing clouds of smoke in the near distance, Wade figured the hero had come from heroing all selflessly and was now hacking up his lungs because of all that burning oil smoke he'd inhaled.

He'd originally intended on making a run for it the moment he was sure Spidey was okay, but now he couldn't bring himself to run off, because his defective and picky conscience had decided at some point or other –probably all those years ago on Coney Island- that Spider-Man was one of the few people he actually gave a fuck about and now he had to know that the younger super was _properly_ okay.

So, he doubled back to where he'd been sitting and grabbed the bottle of water out of the packet, before he made a run for the roof's ledge and made the wide jump fairly easily, landing with a short roll to carry out the momentum before he was back on his feet and running over to where he could now see Spidey laid out on his back.

He wasn't coughing anymore, and Wade panicked for a moment, dropping down onto his knees at Spider-Man's side with urgency. He saw the eye lenses of Spidey's mask were completely closed and he quickly leaned close enough that he was able to hear the younger man's wheezing breathing, which made him calm down again, the sudden panic that had bloomed in his chest easing as he sighed shortly and sat up again.

"Hey, Spidey, you okay?" he tried, speaking quietly but hurried, and when there was no response he dropped the bottle onto the rooftop floor and reached for Spider-Man's head with both hands, cradling his neck and jaw and lifting his head slightly off the ground, "Baby Boy?" he asked again a little louder. But now he was thinking that maybe he should try to lift the mask, because Spider-Man was still wheezing and the mask probably wasn't helping.

' _Must have passed out before he could take it off…'_ he thought with a frown as he set Spidey's head down gently and tried to find a seam for the mask on Spider-Man's neck, but it was a seam which _seemingly_ didn't exist.

Wade knew it existed though, because he'd watched Spidey pull his mask off the last time they'd seen each other and it had separated from the suit at the lower neck area. He quickly became frustrated, finding nothing as he uselessly felt with gloved hands around Spidey's neck. He hadn't wanted to yank the mask off completely, in case anyone in the higher buildings around might see, or if a news chopper went overhead, but now he figured he'd try and then just pull it back down to Spidey's nose if it came off.

So, carefully half gripping the mask material and half sliding it so as not to snag any of that lovely brown hair, Wade muttered Peter's name as he attempted to slide the whole mask up, but it didn't come away, even as it stretched, and in fact, appeared to have _no_ break in the material.

"What the fuck?" he muttered to himself.

At a loss of what the fuck to do about that, Wade decided fuck it; he was just going to shake the shit out of the superhero in hopes that he'd wake up long enough to get his magic trick mask up so he could breathe properly, and maybe drink some water. But as he set his hands on Spidey's shoulders, the lenses of his mask made a mechanical 'zzt' sound as they flickered open somewhat, and then the next thing Wade knew, Spidey yelled ' _get offa me_ ' before Wade's world tilted and turned and then he was careening...

...having been grabbed two handed and easily thrown, sending him flying through the air to land halfway across the roof with a thud and a skid over the concrete.

The landing hurt, in that way that he really didn't even acknowledge since it was very minor compared to other pains he'd experienced, but that didn't mean it was any fun, and Wade groaned and swore under his breath anyway as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. He was mentally cursing his stupid conscience for making him decide to be the one to play the savior by trying to wake up an unconscious super-strong mutant…or mutate, or whatever Spider-Man was.

"Wade?" Spidey wheezed out in the near distance, coughing some more now that he was awake, "Wade! Oh my god, I'm sorry!" he was saying, voice pitchy with remorse but also hoarse with dryness.

Wade raised a hand and waved it once lamely without looking over,

"S'fine, I'm right as rain, Spidey." he said as he sat up and then proceeded to get to his feet. He idly dusted himself off as he saw Spider-Man coming toward him, even as he said, "There's water over there," gesturing past Spidey to where the water bottle was lying, "and you should lift up your mask-…!" he cut himself off with a choked sound when Spidey reached him and honest to God started feeling him up with fleeting hands, touching his shoulders, biceps, chest. And when Spidey's hands moved lower in his wide mask-eyed panic, Wade caught his wrists lightly before he could get to his abs,

"I'm fine." Wade said quickly and clearly, holding Spidey's hands up between them by a light grip on his wrists as he chuckled awkwardly.

"I could have killed you!" Spidey wheezed out, mask lenses narrowing which let Wade know he was probably frowning, "All the smoke, a-and the fire, I couldn't see properly, or breathe. I thought I was in a…and…I thought you were someone else. I-if I had punched you or kicked you, I, I c-could have…" his voice cracked, panic strained, and Wade blinked a few times as he processed Spidey's panic and concerns, feeling his gut twist with upsetting feelings at the idea of Spider-Man crying over him.

"Hey, no, no, relax, Baby Boy," he held Spidey's wrists a little tighter and stared straight into his mask lenses, "You just threw me about thirty-five feet across the rooftop, no biggie." Spidey was still frowning, eye lenses narrowed, as he huffed out a none-too-pleased breath of smoke scented air, "And anyway, you can't kill me. I can't die. I got this bitching, crazy ass healing factor that-…"

"That's not the point," Spider-Man cut him off, voice clearer now but shaken, "I shouldn't…I could have seriously-…"

On an autopilot of previously dormant physical reactions, Wade shook his head and released Spidey's wrists to hold the sides of his neck, large hands cradling his face as he leaned closer and said seriously,

"I'm _fine_ ¸ Peter. But _you_ are not." he said firmly and when Spidey's lenses eased from being narrowed, he figured he'd finally gotten through, "You're not breathing right. I tried to get your mask up-" he faltered when Peter's hands came up to lightly hold his wrists, almost as if he just wanted to make physical contact again. And Wade's heart rate sped up at the same time as his chest felt tight with contradicting feelings at letting the younger super get close to him, but he did his best to ignore those feelings right then, "I tried to get your mask up but I couldn't find the seam, so..."

Peter seemed to be comprehending more clearly now, and he coughed once absently to the side as he let go of Wade's wrists and instead placed them over Wade's hands on the sides of his neck.

"It's partially nanotech, the uh, the suit, I mean." he said just as Wade slipped his hands out from under Peter's, hating that he didn't want to stop touching but knowing that he had to limit himself. "If I'm unconscious," he coughed again, swallowed, "the suit keeps my mask seam concealed so I can't be unmasked until I'm able to do it myself." he explained quietly before he proceeded to find a seam that sort of just fucking appeared and started to push his mask up.

Wade stopped him from taking it all the way off with another light touch to his wrists, letting it settle over the bridge of his nose as he glanced over at the smoke and news choppers in the distance in explanation, before he said,

"That's both incredibly fucking cool and really fucking dangerous. It's ten times easier to suffocate in a mask, trust me, I know." he tried to joke, but Peter's mask lenses narrowed again –another frown- and his lips settled in a straight, displeased line, so Wade changed the subject quickly, "The mask still does the eye lenses thing even separate from the suit, huh?" because it did, and it was pretty creepy, but also, "Definitely fucking cool." he emphasized the curse word as he was wont to do, smiling down at Peter through his mask as he placed his hands –safely away from touching Peter- on his hips.

Then, suddenly and perfectly lovely, Peter was smiling up at him, exhausted and wheezy but still showing most of his pretty white teeth as he said,

"Are you kidding? This suit is worth millions of dollars of advanced tech which makes the lenses move and regulates my enhanced senses and a bunch of other fancy, expensive things." he comfortably told Deadpool far more than any other hero would have ever told Wade about his super suit, "But your suit is like, just…" his head lowered as he clearly looked Wade's torso over "…what is this? Spandex, leather and Kevlar?" he was on the money with that guess, smart guy, "And it looks _so_ cool, and _your_ mask is more expressive than mine is." he sounded so sincere in his compliments, and then he tilted his head in a way that was just ridiculously cute and it made Wade's chest ache, the smaller super asking "How _is_ that even possible, by the way?"

Well, how the hell was Wade supposed to know how the fuck it worked. That was not something he could explain without mentioning fourth walls and making himself seem even crazier than he was.

So, he diverted,

"Seems like the smoke is clearing out of your lungs pretty fast there, Spidey? You're breathing keeps getting better." he stepped around Peter and walked toward the water on the ground, "Got a healing factor of your own?" he picked up the water bottle and held it out for the younger super, who had turned and followed him over.

"Yeah, I do." he took the water, turning the cap and breaking the seal, "It's not anything amazing, but it works pretty well for small stuff like this." he took a long drink.

"Everything about you is amazing." Wade muttered before he could stop himself and immediately everything sort of just got really still and quiet around them, if that even made any sense with how noisy the wind and general city sounds were, sirens still wailing in the distance and helicopter blades whirring on, too.

They were staring at each other now, mask to mask and Wade watched as Peter's adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed his drink of water. And then Wade, a bit mesmerized, tracked the blush rising along the younger super's neck, moving further up until the exposed lower half of his face was even a little blotchy with it, and his lips –now wet with moisture from the water- appeared reddish instead of pink, like they had been before.

Wade suddenly felt really fucking parched.

"Uh…" he cleared his throat and forced himself to look down and away from Peter's masked eyes, but that just left him looking down the length of that _fine_ body and he felt torn between wanting to desperately flee and wanting to desperately touch. He couldn't touch anyway though. Right? Because sure, Spidey initiated close touching the last time, but Wade couldn't do the same, could he…?

He'd only barely envisioned himself pulling Spidey closer with his hands settled on those lean hips, before he shook his head once firmly, likely looking a little nuts to the younger super. And he was about to abruptly announce his departure, which he intended to follow through on by dearly departing himself off the edge of the twenty-story building they were on, but then Peter's soft reddened lips parted and he asked,

"The last time, that, uh, that night we saw each other in the Bronx," he gestured with his free hand in a general north-westerly direction, swallowing noticeably again and looking really uncertain of what he wanted to say, making Wade feel anxious too because he suspected he knew where this was going and he knew he should yeet himself off the building asap but he just _couldn't_ leave while Spidey was talking to him all sweet and nervous and-, "I asked if I'd s-see you around, and you just, just-..." he made another half gesture before he brought both of his hands to fiddle with the water bottle and he settled for staring down at the ground and Wade just waited him out, feeling a little helpless, "-you just took off, and didn't answer me. But I, uh, I meant it," he added quickly, glancing up and then looking down again, "I meant it, that I wanted to see you again. I really did, Wade."

Then he fell silent, still fiddling with the bottle, and Wade shifted on his feet, deciding that since Spidey was looking down he could probably make an undignified, totally cowardly run for it while the guy was talking to his shoes, and at least-

"And I mean, I get it, you know, if you don't want to h-hang out with me…" Wade's terrible escape plan screeched to a halt and he frowned down at Peter's masked head, surprised by what the younger super was saying, but also by the quiet, shaken insecurity colouring his voice, "You're, uh, one of the few people who know who's under this suit, and I know that Peter Parker isn't the same as what Spider-Man comes across like." a humorless laughing scoff, "Trust me, I know people prefer Spider-Man. Even **I** prefer Spider-Man." Peter was still talking looking downward and Wade's mouth was hanging open under his mask, "I'm actually really lame when compared to Spider-man, and you, I mean, you like Spider-Ma- uh," he looked up now, lenses wide as he shook his head in some kind of embarrassed panic, "I-I mean I think you like me, as Spider-Man, I can't, I mean," the plastic of the water bottle crackled slightly in his grip, "I d-don't know, I have no way of knowing that for sure and I shouldn't just assume. I just-..."

Wade had to make him _stop_ , so he raised a hand between them and pressed his gloved index finger lightly to that pretty red mouth, effectively silencing the younger super and -judging by how the lenses briefly narrowed almost closed- probably making his eyes cross for a moment. Wade couldn't listen anymore and he was absolutely stunned, not only by how much Spidey was rambling and nervous, but also by just how wrong he was getting everything! How the fucking fuck?

It was kind of mind-fucking that he and Spidey both seemed to have insecurities about what was beneath their suits, albeit for completely different reasons. But Wade had no idea how Peter could think anything like that about himself in the first place.

Because shit, he was gorgeous, adorable, handsome and from what Wade could tell so far, his personality was sincere and sweet and a little dorky in that totally loveable way and...and...

"Okay," he exhaled, deciding to just lay it out even as his stomach clenched with anxiety at having to talk about thoughts and _feelings_ , "I didn't want to get into this, hence the reason I ditched you without an answer that night," he started plainly, watching Peter's lips pressed together at his straightforward words, and then Wade went ahead and just said it like was, "but you _need_ to know, Baby Boy, that firstly, _none_ of the dumb shit I have done, and probably will do in future, with regards to you, has anything to do with **you**." he clarified.

Or at least he hoped that's what he was doing, since words, when they had to actually mean something, were hard, but he aimed for honesty and just went with it, "Secondly, you _are_ amazing, and I don't just mean amazing as in how super fucking hot you are, even though yeah, wow, holy Hare Krishna, you are amazingly fucking hot and I just want to do-ooohnoo, uh..." he trailed off into an awkward strained laugh as he urgently rerouted his thoughts, "The _point_ is, it's me, not you. And that's not an excuse, I am very _literally_ a complete fucking _disaster_ , a total fucktastic mess, a drunken mall Santa addicted to methamphetamine and trying to shake kids down for their pocket money in exchange for the false promise of more presents, kind of mess. M-E-S-S. " he took a breath while Spidey just stared up at him, water bottle now forgotten in his still hands and mouth gone slack under Wade's finger.

Wade was not done, "And that is not even including the fact that I'm more than a little batshit crazy." he pointed to his head with his free hand, before he started listing things with his fingers on the same hand, "I'm an asshole 99 point 2 percent of the time, I'm erratic, I'm unreliable, I fucking _hate_ cows, I'm a mercenary, and not out of necessity, but because I abso-fucking-lutely enjoy my job. And by job I mean killing people. I _enjoy_ killing people, like, a lot, and come on Spidey, you?" he threw both hands up dramatically, " _You're_ a fricken' _superhero_ , and not just any superhero, but a superhero that is there for _all_ the people, every day, as often as you can be. A superhero who actually gives a rat's ass." and he just kept talking, realizing that he was as bad with rambling as Spider-Man was, "You shouldn't waste your time hanging around with _me_ , you could wander into an alleyway and find some garbage there that would be more worth your tim-…

"Oh my God, Wade, _shut up_." Peter finally interrupted him and brought his verbal diarrhea to a stop, one of his hands having come up to lightly curl around one of Wade's to stop him from gesticulating. Spidey's eye lenses were narrowed, which was an indication of a frown again as he sighed, "I get it, okay?" he huffed out, lowering his hand and Wade's along with it, "I already know how it'd look for me to be friends with you. I've thought about it a lot since the last time we saw each other." he paused and glanced around to gather his thoughts while all Wade could do was stand very still while listening and being extremely aware that Peter hadn't let go of his hand, and so now they were kind of actually just...holding hands.

Wow. It felt so strange and so nice and-… "But I don't care, I just...I _don't_." Spidey shook his head and their masked eyes met again, "Even though I know you're a, a killer, I also know you only kill bad guys. And yeah," he shrugged, "that's not something I necessarily agree with, but I also won't personally condemn you for it. I'm not naive enough to think that criminals and evil can be viewed as black and white. Not anymore." he mumbled the last part quietly and in a withdrawn tone that caught Wade's attention, made him think that the 'naivety' scenario was a sore spot for Spidey. Before he could ask or comment though, Spidey continued in a more upbeat voice, "So, I accept all those things about you, everything you said, even the meth addicted mall Santa thing-,"

"But-..."

"No, man. Come on." Peter interrupted him before he could even try to object, but what actually made his words get stuck in his throat was the fact that Spidey also completely slipped his smaller hand into in to Wade's and squeezed, "Look, I'm standing here," he paused, swallowed nervously, "telling you I want to see you more often, that I want to get to know you properly," and oh, he was blushing again, from his neck up to where the mask was halfway up his face, "I'm telling you this even after I had to wash b-blood off my suit and face after the last time I saw you." he admitted softly and Wade swallowed thickly and squeezed Peter's hand right back, conflicting feelings warring inside him.

He didn't even think of the fact that he'd had that rapist's blood all over him that time. And while his heart was beating rapidly now with fear and hope about letting himself get close to Spider-Man like the younger super wanted, his chest also felt constricted with self-loathing and disgust about having tainted Spider-Man with the literal blood of a revolting pig.

"Shitfuck," he spat quietly, tone apologetic, "sorry about the blood, I didn't eve-..."

"Wade, I just said it's fine, it doesn't matter." Spidey cut him off again, and while he should have felt annoyed, Wade couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than amazed as he thought of how he didn't deserve this kind of acceptance. Spidey smiled again then, a lopsided little thing and Wade's heart hurt, "I mean, it was super gross, and I'd like to never have to experience that again, so, you know, next time I'll just make sure you're not covered in blood when-..." Wade could only stare, not breathing, as Spidey's mask lenses widened as far open as they could as his words registered between them.

Words that clearly reflected what Spidey was thinking; that'd there'd be a next time that they would be that close again. That Wade could hold him like that again. And **shit** , what did that mean? Because Wade was pretty sure he'd expressed to Peter _all_ of the underlying sexual feelings he'd had about that embrace at the time. Did Peter not remember? Or did he not care? Or did he...no, it couldn't be...

"Next time." Wade breathed out before Spidey could turn any redder or pull his now tensed hand out of Wade's, "You, uh, you wanna' get that up close and personal with me again, Baby Boy?" he chuckled a bit, trying to add some humor to the uncertain quiet that was lingering. But Peter was now turning even redder and when he pursed his lips and lowered his head -seemingly looking at their joined hands- Wade decided to just go ahead and remind the younger super of a **hard** fact. "Not that I don't want to, cause' _fuck_ , it's actually the opposite." he let his hand go lax, expecting Peter to let it go, "You remember what I said that night, don't you? About popping a boner? Yeah?" he chuckled gruffly and added, "That wasn't a joke." in a plainly suggestive tone, so that Spider-Man wouldn't think he was kidding. It was time to be as clear as possible actually, "You surprised me the first time you got that close to me, Peter, but if you put all of you in that spandex up against all of me a _second_ time, I'm gonna' get so hard you're gonna' be able to tell what religion I'm not." he didn't even laugh that time to ease the crude admission.

He wanted Spider-Man to know that while 'friends' was maybe possible for them, if Spider-Man wanted it to be a tactile friendship, it wouldn't stop the fact that a grown-up Spider-Man showing up in his life had reignited the very, very bright and hot flame of interest Wade had had for the younger super in the past. Back then, when he hadn't known Spidey was a teen, he'd spent many a night getting off to the idea of sexing up Spider-Man in all manner of filthy ways, and it would be no less intense now that Spidey was an adult and Wade was actually _feeling_ something again. In fact, Wade's imagination would probably do worse - or better depending on your perspective - when coming up with raunchy scenarios involving him and the wall-crawler if they started to get closer.

Wade was way past platonic when it came to Spider-Man, had been even before he'd known he shouldn't have been. Now, all legal and hotter than ever, there was no going back from that.

He expected his honesty to be enough to make Spider-Man, who was currently -and strangely- _still_ holding his hand, still blotchy with how flustered he was, back off. He was expecting his words to sober the younger man, to make him decide that Wade was gross and that he didn't want some older, morally degenerate killer not only in his life, but constantly thinking about getting into his pants. And there was _no way_ that Spidey would be okay with that because-

His thought was cut off because Spidey mumbled something that Wade didn't catch,

"...uh, what was that?" he asked, and he leaned down and closer at the exact same time as Spidey raised his head and looked up at him, their faces only a few inches apart as a result when Spidey said,

"I remember." softly but clearly, and his voice just a _tad_ on the amused side. Also, his masks eyes were no longer widened in shock, but rather relaxed, halfway open and staring straight into Wade's wide mask eyes…and there was the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of those blush red lips that had Wade's brain functionality stuttering.

It honestly took a several second count for him to catch on to _exactly_ what those words meant, but when he did, all he could think was _holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit_ for a solid minute as they continued to stare at each other.

A few pigeons were cooing somewhere on the roof nearby, there was the sound of more fire engines rushing to where the smoke was still billowing up into the sky from the flames at the refinery, car horns were honking and the general noisy din of loud New Yorkers carried with the wind all the way to the rooftop of the building they were on. But all Wade was focused on was his blood rushing in his ears, the heavy thud of his heart and the feeling of Peter's hand once again holding tighter to his own.

It didn't seem possible that this was actually happening; not only the fact that Spider-Man had basically just admitted to knowing Wade wanted him sexually and was still interested in being physically close to him, which implied by extension that Spider-Man _wanted_ **that** sort of contact with him, but he also couldn't believe the range of emotions he was feeling right then, none of which were the usual perpetual anger and bitterness that underlined everything in his life.

His emotions were going crazy right then, all so complicated while also being so, so fucking clear. Jesus fucking Christ, he was feeling _excitement_. Not the sexual kind, the kind that came with anticipation and hope and happiness and _nothing_ Wade was used to anymore.

But he was also feeling raw and wound up, and like all of his nerves were starting to fray. Fuck.

This was the way he'd felt after he'd become Deadpool but before he'd revealed himself to Vanessa. He'd spent weeks and weeks in emotional turmoil, wondering how she could possibly accept him as Deadpool, how she could accept what he _looked_ like, how she could still want to be close to him. And to the present day he knew that if it hadn't been for Francis kidnapping Vanessa and forcing his hand, Wade would _never_ have revealed himself to her. Because he had truly not believed it was possible for someone to love what he was as Deadpool...to want to touch what he was, be close to him as what he was.

"Wade? Are you okay?"

Peter's voice made Wade realize he was breathing loudly and deeply while staring down at their joined hands. He couldn't help thinking about how if Peter knew what he was, how he looked, under the suit, the younger super wouldn't be so accepting...he wouldn't be holding onto Wade's hand.

And then suddenly his mind was screaming; _abortabortabortabortabortabortabortabort_ because he didn't want to get _rejected_ , not by someone that he _actually_ desired. A rejection from Spider-Man, from _Peter_ , would not feel the same numbed way as how he'd long ago become jaded and desensitized to prostitutes and general people he'd occasionally found himself looking at when he was out in the streets, when they'd hand his money back like it was diseased, or make grossed out faces at him.

He'd become so used to that in the past, that after all the time gone by that he'd gone without sexual closeness or interest in anyone, even the memory of those times didn't faze him. But just the _imagined_ idea of Peter's beautiful face scrunching up with disgust at the sight of him had Wade's feelings spiraling violently.

"Wade?" Peter said his name again, sounding concerned and releasing Wade's hand. He dropped the water bottle to the ground so that he could place his hands on Wade's tense shoulders, and they were so close already but somehow Peter touching his shoulders was _too much_.

Not too much because he didn't want to be touched, but too much because of how much he _did_.

Wade stepped back abruptly then, still breathing heavily as he put some distance between them. Suddenly he was reminded of how fucking hot it was as he felt sticky and sweaty in the worst possible way _everywhere_ under his suit. And he knew it was because his self-hatred was at an all-time high, so bad that he wanted to _flay_ himself if only to be rid of his skin for a short while.

But he'd tried that before, and it didn't even work because his skin healed back faster than he could peel it away, and it hurt so badly too, emotionally as much as physically.

Oh god, he could feel that he wanted to cry, and **that** hadn't happened in so long that the ache of it trapped in his throat momentarily made him forget to breathe. He knew he had to get away immediately, to somewhere where he'd be alone, and he was automatically leaving then, vision honing in on the nearest fire escape, it being a clean route to getting away, just far enough and out of sight that he could shoot himself and just stop _feeling_ things, _all_ things. He wanted to be numb again, and the nearest alley would do, just for a reset. He decided that concisely and was already reaching down to his thigh to unholster one of his Desert Eagles as he neared the top of the ladder.

But then he heard a sniffle, so soft that he shouldn't have heard it, but the wind...the wind had carried the sound to him, and he stopped walking. Because it was Peter who had sniffled.

Wade was walking away from Peter _again_ , after Peter had expressed wanting to be close to him _again_ , and now he had hurt the younger super. And while Wade didn't want to be hurting himself, he wanted even less for Peter to be hurt.

So, he couldn't just leave.

And he couldn't go ahead and shoot himself or jump off the building to selfishly cut off the world and the feelings that Spider-Man was making him feel, not with Peter right there watching.

He had to...he had to get his shit together.

He had years and years spent not feeling much of anything other than rage and bitterness, and now, now maybe it was time for him to move past the blip? Maybe if he was making an effort for someone else and not just for himself, maybe it could work? He hadn't thought he'd ever have the desire to, he hadn't thought anything would make him feel like he had before he'd lost everything once and then again.

But right then he was feeling; he was feeling alive and real and it was terrifying because it made him vulnerable, vulnerable like he'd been when Vanessa had been kidnapped, and when Vanessa had said they could try for a baby, and when Vanessa had died.

She'd been the last person to want him.

Now Peter was expressing some kind of interest in him and maybe, just maybe, he owed it to himself, and to Peter, to try again. Maybe he could let himself try to get closer. The idea of being hurt was so scary it made him feel so hot and cold and tense and pained, but also, the idea of being...kissed again? Kissed by someone who knew what he was under the suit and still wanted him like Vanessa had?

That would be something...something that seemed unfathomable.

But maybe.

Maybe Peter...

"Wade?" his name again, confused and hesitant, followed by another sniffle.

' _Maybe'_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Wade has to make a decision...


	6. I like to tell you that I'm ready for whatever's coming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More mixed points of comic and MCU here, subtle, but if you know both then you'll catch them. Otherwise they're not too important. Except for Wade's canon age. In the comics he is in his 50's, even if his body is perpetually late 30's. In the movies he became DP at 39 and this story has had quite a large time lapse already, so his age is similar here. If the age gap between him and Peter bothers anyone, then please don't hesitate to stop reading, I completely understand.
> 
> NB: Not beta read, all errors are mine.

* * *

. _..but to be honest there's a part of me that loses control._

* * *

Wade turned around quickly and somewhat dramatically, plastering a smile on his face wide enough that he knew it would be visible to Peter through the stretch of his mask,

"Sorry about that. Batshit crazy, remember?" he made the excuse with a forced chuckle and a hand vaguely gesturing to his head, "My mind wanders and I can be a little erratic, you know?" he was lying, but he also wasn't. Because even though he hadn't been having a dissociative or unstable episode just then -and hadn't had one in a long while-, it wasn't like it wasn't true that it _could_ happen.

Peter remained motionless and didn't say anything, like he wasn't sure about whether to accept the sudden change to Wade's mind or the dubious excuse he'd given, and Wade couldn't blame him. Considering he'd walked away from the younger super twice so far, he was amazed Spidey still gave enough of a shit to be standing there. The guy was _really_ serious about sticking around apparently, and so Wade figured then that if he was going to do this, he had to just go all in. If he was going to put himself out there to be –inevitably- rejected at some point, he might as well throw himself into it in the same way he usually ran head first and uncaring of his well-being when it came to a fight.

Do or die. Or...do and/or die and then come back afterwards, in his case.

Coming back afterwards was always the fucking worst though, and from death it was one thing, but coming back from liking someone, loving them...letting them close, man, it had felt like torture for Wade after Vanessa. And this would be no different, he just knew it. He'd lost so much just losing her, and so he'd never thought of trying again for real...but now, now he was deciding to try one more time. It was a bad idea, but then, his entire backstory was made up of bad ideas, so...

So, he started with the basics. A disclaimer!

He quickly approached Peter again across the roof in order to stand close and let his sincerity and seriousness show as much as it could through his mask when he said,

"I'm sorry, I'm a fuck up." he sighed, mask eyes squinted as he shook his head once, "I told you right. So, don't ever say I didn't warn you. If you end up regretting this shit, it's not on me." he pointed a finger from Peter to himself and then paused to think that over, tilting his head before saying, "Okay, well, it definitely **will** be my fault if you regret this **but** ," he raised the index finger he'd been pointing with and tapped Peter on his nose, "it'll be your mistake."

Wade had no idea what response to expect, but unbelievably -and gorgeously-, Peter smiled up at him, all pretty lips and teeth, and holy shit was it a beautiful and adorable smile all at once. Wade found himself wishing they weren't in the open right then, because he might have been able to see those pretty brown eyes too, if Peter had taken his mask off agai-…

...oh. Oooh no.

Wade was abruptly reminded of the fact that at some point he'd be expected to take his own mask off.

How had he just forgotten that _very fucking important_ detail? And in only the few seconds between his deciding to leave and Peter sadly sniffing!? Fuck!

All over again he felt anxious, body tensing up stiffly, but Peter stepped a little closer, closer than they'd been standing before Wade had walked off, and while it was not as close as they'd been that night in the Bronx, all of Wade's anxiously scattered attention focused on looking down at the shorter super.

" _This_ , huh?" Peter asked, echoing what Wade had referenced them as, and he was still smiling, a faint blush clinging to his skin, when he added, "So, that means you want to, uh," he paused and Wade heard him swallow as he tried to get out what he wanted to say, "want to spend more time together?"

And while it was ten and a half kinds of fucking cute watching and listening to him try to flirt, Wade couldn't ignore that Peter had, more than once throughout their conversation, chosen to use only phrases that _hinted_ , almost as if he was purposely avoiding eluding to them being friends, but wasn't confident enough to say what he _actually_ wanted, so it left him insinuating that he wanted more. Wade still couldn't believe it though, and he hated the idea of not being sure-sure, ' _So I'll have to test it...'_ he thought as he nodded his head in response to Peter.

"Yeah, I do want that." he admitted in a quieter voice than was usual for him, taking in a deep, silent breath as he let his decision settle in.

He was really going to do this, to ty this again. With Spider-Man? Wow.

"Great!" Peter said a bit loudly and he seemed to flinch back at his own burst of enthusiasm, Wade watching amused as the shorter man tried to play it off as cool, clearing his throat and nervously patting his abdomen before loosely crossing his arms, only to finally place his hands on his hips, "That's, uh, that's great, because, I, uh, I-like you," and hearing those words, Wade internally panicked and preened at the same time while Peter obliviously went on, "because you're a...I mean, you seem like a good guy."

Say what now?

Wade tilted his head then, the expression on his mask likely telegraphing his stupefaction at those words quite clearly because Peter huffed and said,

"Hey, don't look at me like that, I mean it." and he sounded like he really did, which left Wade stumped, and then Wade got caught up watching as Peter wet his lips with an absent swipe of his tongue - _christonapogostick_ \- before the younger man proceeded to explain with that same pretty mouth, "Wade, you _are_ a good guy, like, in your own way, you know?" was he really asking? Because Wade's answer would start with an N and end with an O. "I mean, come on, you knew, all this time, all these _years_ , what I looked like. And if you ever did find out who I was after we met back then, you never used it against me." he sighed and shrugged, his previously gesturing hands falling to hang at his sides, "My identity is my biggest weakness. It could ruin and endanger the lives of my family and friends if people knew, and yet, **you** _never_ tried to use it against me." he finished somewhat emphatically.

Wade frowned as he stared down at Peter, having heard the same vulnerability that had been in Peter's voice that night in the Bronx filtering into his speech just then, and he found himself getting angry, because he could guess that someone, or more than one person possibly, had betrayed Peter in the past, and now the young superhero was reduced to trusting someone like Wade!?

Not that his trust was misplaced though, because Wade had known that night he'd seen Spidey's fifteen-year-old, bloody bruised face for the first time, that if he ever so happened to need to, he would kill someone for Spidey without even asking questions first. Because Spider-Man was a _real_ hero in his eyes, and _Peter_ seemed like everything pure, sincere and good in the world, and he was the kind of human being that should never have been hurt by anyone.

"So quit talking shit about yourself already." Peter said, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them, smirking as he lightly poked a finger into Wade's sternum. Wade couldn't help smiling in return, even as he fake-gasped and leaned closer with a hand on one to cheek to whisper-shout,

"Oh em gee, he _swears_!"

Peter didn't miss a beat, responding with a snort and a grin, and then in a put-upon accent and slightly deeper tone he said,

"What d'ya mean? A'course I do, I grew up in Noo Yawk, Queens, man."

Wade just stared, mask eyes a little wide as he grinned broadly under his mask,

"What the shit, Baby Boy, that was _terrible._ " he said fondly, having loved hearing every accented word, "But even so," he paused to make a heart with both hands raised in front of his face, and Peter was already snickering even before Wade added in a breathy whisper, "Motherfucking heart-eyes." breaking his hands apart, moving his fingers in a fluttering motion as he did so. Peter was still snickering and still blushing slightly and Wade was grinning even harder now, his lips and skin feeling a little tight from the stretch of it. He really wasn't used to smiling so much.

When his laughter tapered off, Peter recovered with an amused and challenging,

"Like you can do any better?"

Wade immediately conceded,

"Oh no, no, no, absolutely not. I'm not even American, let alone a New Yorker." he informed Peter as he placed his hands on his hips.

At this, Peter's mask lenses widened and then narrowed.

"Really?" he asked curiously.

Wade nodded,

"Ya-bud."

Peter's mask eyes squinted,

"Wait, are you-..."

"A canuck; for sure."

"A Canadian _mercenary_ , really?" his mouth was doing a cute smile-frown thing. He sounded skeptical.

"Yep."

"No way, where in Canada?"

"Saskatchewan." Wade said, but it wasn't true. He just liked the way the word sounded, like Chimichangas. In general, Wade never liked talking about his Canadian roots, since his childhood had been the epitome of shit. Some things just needed to stay buried.

Peter sounded amused when he said,

"I thought Canadian's were supposed to be super nice people."

Wade faked another gasp and placed a hand on his chest,

"I am the super nicest." he said in his best valleyspeak accent, which was contradictorily a very American thing. Peter scoffed, trying to smother his smile and failing,

"You're a mercenary."

"What, mercenaries can't be nice people, eh?" Wade hammed up the Canadian accent that time, loving the way Peter just kept smiling.

"I guess _maybe_ they can," Peter shrugged exaggeratedly before his voice and smile softened, "I mean, you are pretty nice."

' _Jesus Christ, he's flirting with me again.'_ Wade's brain screeched and his heart rate sped up more than it had already been lightly hammering all along from their banter and Peter's smile.

"Okay, okay, I lied." Wade said playfully, lowering his voice a little. He decided on the spot it was the right moment to test what exactly it was Peter was looking for.

"Oh, really?" Peter's voice was shyer now, but still flirtatious.

"Yeah. Yes. Liar, liar pants on fucking fire. I'm a total prick." he said unapologetically, and then he made a move, "But when it comes to you, I'll always make an exception, sweetums." speaking in a tone of voice he hadn't used in years. The tone of voice reserved for when he needed to be sexy and charming, and while he could no longer qualify for the former, Wade was still capable of being a huge damn flirt, he'd always been good at flirting.

Peter's grin widened and he did the cutest little half bounce on the balls of his feet when he said,

"Always, huh? That sounds good. Means you plan on sticking around." he sounded pretty happy about it, and Wade felt good because Peter was happy and that need to please someone hadn't happened to him in so long it felt like a physical ache now when it did.

"As long as you want me to." and he knew he was fucked, super fucked, because he really meant it. He was terrified, but he wanted this, despite denying it so hard for the past few weeks, and now that he was letting himself have it he knew he was going to go careening, head first, right over his heels, untethered and the fall was going to fucking wreck him when he hit the bottom.

"I'll hold you to that." Peter responded, still flirtatious and still grinning softly, redness lingering on his skin.

Wade nodded absently and then made another, bolder, move,

"You can hold me to anything you want, Baby Boy," and he shifted a little closer as he plainly gave the length of Peter's body in all that tight spandex one very blatant look over before he suggestively added, "Especially if it's up close and all kinds of personal to that banging body of yours."

Peter lit up red with renewed fluster so fast it was almost magical for Wade to witness, and he didn't really understand why, he'd said far more sex related things than that around Peter so far, hadn't he?

Yeah, he had. So, Peter was also surprised by his own reaction, his smile losing its shape and his lips parting in surprise, the eyes of his mask making that 'zzt' sound again as he blinked rapidly and averted his eyes to the side too quickly for the mechanics to match.

Thing was, that had been the first blatant and direct come-on Wade had made towards him and it turned out he was _not ready_ for it, his brain releasing a confusing mix of hormones, making him feel one part turned on and two parts anxious. He was totally unprepared for how the man's demeanor changed and for how hot and _adult_ he sounded. Peter didn't think he could sound like that when he flirted even if he tried a hundred times, so how come Wade sounded like that?!

It left him feeling a bit lost and unsure all of a sudden about exactly what level of relationship he was ready for, because Wade didn't sound like he was suggesting close cuddles with those last words. Nope, his tone had implied a whole other thing. And since this was Peter's first time considering a guy in a non-platonic way, being faced with the vast difference of sexuality in Wade's tone alone compared to his own, along with the difference in age and physical size and experience, Peter found himself wondering if he really knew what he was getting into.

As a result his initial reaction was hesitation, feeling like he was maybe out of his depth, and it was a bad habit of his to make lame jokes, awkward excuses, to apologize, or to make up a reason to bail when he felt uncomfortable around people. He was just about to do that, too, opening his mouth to stutter out some weak exit strategy, but at the same time as he thought of backing off, the questions of ' _Why am I hesitating?_ ' and ' _What's holding me back?_ ' occurred to him and he pursed his lips to keep himself from saying anything.

He didn't want to fall back into old habits. Nine out of ten uncomfortable or intimidating disagreements and/or confrontations and discussions he had with people in his life usually ended with him either giving in or giving up. He'd always been a bit of pushover, never had been particularly good at standing up for himself or saying what he was feeling or wanted. Sure, he could kick ass now and ran his mouth like a motor, but that was as Spider-Man, not Peter Parker.

But he didn't want that anymore, he didn't want to be brave as Spider-Man and scared as Peter Parker, because he was both Peter and Spider-Man...and hadn't Wade said he was amazing? And Wade had said that even knowing it was just plain ol' Peter under the suit.

Peter found himself smiling just so again, deciding once and for all that even though it was scary, the new territory of getting together with another guy –and not just any guy, but a dangerous, mysterious, wild card guy like Deadpool- he needed to be either all in or completely out, there was no room for half-minds and uncertainties because that kind of indecision never led anywhere good. Besides, he was the one who'd started it, because he was curious and interested and anticipating _something_ , he'd just have to figure it out as he went along. There was no use in backing out now.

Deciding to respond with action rather than words, after a cursory glance around the shorter and taller buildings surrounding them, Peter stepped forward into Wade's personal space. He was nervous as hell but some of the nervousness was from excitement, and he was not really sure what he was doing but he did know that he wanted to respond to Deadpool's boldness with his own.

Wade, who hadn't expected Peter to actually want to _hold his body against him_ , especially after all that boner talk, had to force himself to keep calm and play it cool when Peter stepped up so much closer to him and initiated a hug, telling himself to just return the embrace and not read too much into the situation. Even though the signals Peter was putting out at this point seemed pretty clear-!

The idea of not reading too much into anything was quickly overturned when Peter, awkwardly and shyly, drew back from the hug before raising his arms to wrap the around Wade's neck instead, having to stand up on his toes to do so!

Wade stopped breathing.

This move on Peter's part was decidedly less platonic, and as far as he could see, it left Wade with two options of where to put his own arms or hands; a) hands politely on Peter's flanks, or b) arms around his waist. But the decision was a no brainer, because if Peter was offering to press that fine-ass body against his own, Wade wasn't about to turn him down, so he slipped his arms around Peter's waist and tightened his hold just enough that their full fronts were touching, even if only just, and Wade also bent forward a bit to make it easier for Peter considering their height difference.

It immediately felt very intimate very quickly, and Wade was glad that Peter had ducked his head down to hide his face against the front of his shoulder, because Wade's expressive mask was showing how affected he was, his brain automatically repeating a stream of disbelieving expletives over and over.

The feeling of Peter pressed against him like that, much like it had the other night weeks ago, sent his own feelings running rampant, and a lot more of those feelings were sexual this time. Like everything else in him that had been dormant for so long, his libido had been suppressed as well, so while he tended to make lots of sex jokes as per the usual, personally, he'd been numb to the desire for sex.

But now that he'd be letting Peter get close to him, and in this physical way specifically, all of Wade's switches were being turned **on** and he registered the press of Peter's lean, hard muscles and curves against him with far more sexual awareness than he had before. What he'd previously been able to tamp down when holding Peter the last time would no longer be held in check, and he was already imagining with crystal clarity what it'd be like to peel the skintight suit off the younger super...to mark up his fair skin with suck and bite marks, to bend and stretch his agile limbs into all kinds of interesting positions and over all kinds of surfaces.

' _And the things I'd do to that_ _ass!'_ Wade could feel himself getting hard.

It'd been so long since he'd been so turned on that there was no stopping it... **but** Spidey had been warned, so Wade didn't bother to, ahem, curb his enthusiasm. Besides, he needed to know exactly what Peter wanted out of getting close to him, so he might as well run a few tests.

That was excuse he made to himself as he loosened his arms from around Peter's waist, placed his large hands on the younger super's mid-back and then very deliberately splayed and caressed them down Peter's body, forcing himself to stop when he reached real low on Peter's back, his pinky and ring fingers resting on the rise of Peter's perfect ass...so close.

He stopped because Peter's breath audibly hitched and he'd tightened his arms around Wade's neck, but also unconsciously –or hopefully not- he'd pressed his body inwards...closer and firmly against Wade's, enough that just as obviously as Wade could feel his erection pressed to Spidey's stomach, Spidey could feel it too, and yet he _didn't_ pull back.

Wade flexed his fingers into the spandex over Peter's waist and lower back, breathing a quiet and drawn out,

"Fuuuuck." as they remained standing that way for a few very hot seconds. And then Peter loosened his arms, not to pull away, but to be able to lean back as he raised his head to look at Wade, swallowing thickly before asking,

"Can I see you?" and sliding one arm down until his hand was settled on Wade's neck, right where the mask tucked into his suit, the younger super's fingers curled lightly into the material, preparing to tug it up.

Wade tensed up immediately, mask-eyes widening as he forced himself not to shove Peter back roughly, even though his instincts made him want to remove all contact in his panic. Instead he frantically tried to think of how to inoffensively say **hell fucking no** , because he was one hundred thousand percent **not** about to let that happen, not yet anyway! It was too soon to show Peter his horror movie face.

He was saved by ACDC before he could turn Peter's request down, the familiar 'Back in Black' tune coming through the tinny speakers of a cellphone that was definitely not Wade's, and so it must have been Peter's.

"Oh crap." Peter muttered as he stepped out of their hold and reached behind his back, all of his attention now on the task of answering his phone.

Wade took in a silent breath of relief, even if it did suck to have let go of Peter, and he watched as the younger super pulled a smartphone out of…somewhere on his suit. For once Wade was the one wondering where the fuck a thing had come from on someone else's very tight suit.

"Where were you keeping that?" he asked with a puzzled frown as he watched Peter swallow tensely when he saw the caller name on his screen, muttering another ' _oh crap_ ' to himself as he cuffed a hand over the top of his mask, a move that was probably intended for all that soft brown hair that Spidey couldn't get to right then.

"Uh, it's a secret pouch, nanotech conceals it." he said in a quick breath, sounding distracted, and then he looked at Wade and raised a hand to him with two fingers up, and as he answered the call and brought the phone up to his ear he mouthed 'my aunt, two minutes'.

"Hey, May." he said into the receiver in a very affectionate but nervous tone, and Wade watched amused as Peter idly half-stepped and paced around as he spoke to his Aunt, "No, no, yeah, actually I'm fine. Yeah, but I had to rush away from the scene, but everyone was safe so they didn't need me an-, uh, yeah, I'm sure, complete evac. Uh, yes, yeah the smoke was ba-…what, no!" Peter shook his head, mouth forming a frowny pout and his free hand gesturing his denial as he continued, "I wasn't swinging weird, how could anyone even see tha-, no, really, I was fine. I mean, I **am** fine!" then with a more definitive pout and a put-out tone of voice, "Are they showing that footage on the news?" a pause, "Aaw, man, that sucks…" Wade, far too curious, took his cell phone out of one of his pouches and tapped into his Youtube app, "…how bad is it? Do I look stupid?" he sounded grumpy now, "Wha- _flailing_? I wasn't- arg…" he face-palmed, mask eyes closing completely as he shook his head in dismay.

Wade glanced up from his phone as he searched, and he could only smile, endeared and very quickly becoming adoring, as Peter started to wind down his conversation with his aunt, an aunt who apparently knew he was Spider-Man and from the one side of the chat that he could hear, she sounded very supportive.

He found the cell phone footage he was looking for then and he tapped on 'play'. The video was taken from below in the streets, Peter could be seen swinging high above people's heads, and yep, it was pretty clear that he was a little out of it, Wade watching as he barely missed to clip the corner of a building, and then went on to slip down his web as well. The video was a compilation from different cell phones, resulting in different angles.

And the sight was not as amusing as Wade had thought it would be, in fact, he wasn't amused at all, his stomach dropping slightly with the collective gasps of the crowd in the video when Spidey slipped on his web so high above the hard, unforgiving ground, the spidery super appearing to latch onto his web thread tightly with two hands, his legs indeed flailing for a moment as he tried to regain his balance to make a turn that took him out of sight.

It left Wade feeling a little unsettled and panicky in his gut, much like he had when he'd seen Peter drop heavily onto the roof earlier, where he hadn't gotten up immediately. Wade was already becoming too attached and it was danger-

"-ith a friend right now." Peter's words caught his attention, because wow, was Peter already telling his Aunt about knowing him? "Uh, no, y-you don't know him. Not-no, not from university, no, no, not work eith-uh, no, I, May, can we, can we talk about this later? I gotta' ge-…"

Wade noticed that Peter was getting cut off a lot, or maybe he was just the kind of guy who didn't often finish sentences unless you let him. He seemed the type to not get annoyed with being interrupted. Wade on the other hand, tended to _have_ to say his piece and he got annoyed –and trigger happy- if someone cut him off.

Peter was suddenly quiet though, listening to whatever his Aunt was saying attentively, and then he glanced at Wade with a half-smile, holding his phone to his ear with one hand while the other was settled on his narrow hip, before he turned away abruptly.

"Tonight?! An hour?!" he sounded mildly alarmed. "May, come on, that's super short notice, I'm so tired and I smell like oil fumes. Can't we reschedule?" he complained. Wade just stood by, watching and noting Peter's mannerisms and movements in order to commit them to memory. It was a habit he'd developed long ago, trying to memorize things, trying to hang on to them for some reason that had to do with the fact that he was pretty much immortal while everyone else would die.

He swallowed a little tensely, listening to the pitches and dips in Peter's voice, just _looking_ at him, because he could, because he wanted to.

"Oh, oh right! That's...yeah, they were in Paris! Right." he touched his head in an absent gesture, nodding along with whatever his Aunt was saying, "Yeah, yeah, okay, got it, I'll dress nicely-, yeah oka- okay, I get it, yeah, I promise, May. It's a fancy restaurant, no sneakers, noted." he sighed and tipped his head back, "Yeah, I'll iron my clothes…" he mumbled grumpily.

Wade snorted at that comment and Peter turned to flash him another smaller, somewhat sheepish smile, making Wade's chest feel so tight and he wasn't even sure with what emotions exactly, he just _felt_ it.

"Okay, I'll see you soon. Ok, love you, May. Bye."

Peter hung up then and Wade grinned under his mask as he watched Peter dramatically sag his shoulders before he walked closer to Wade again, from where he'd fidgeted and paced away to.

"I have so many questions." Wade announced in a scandalous whispery voice.

Peter grinned in response and he glanced down at his phone screen before he said,

"Well, I gotta' go, so you only get, uh, let's make it three." he lifted his hand; his pinky, index and middle finger raised.

Wade was momentarily stunned he was getting to ask _any_ , but he didn't let that stop him,

"You listen to ACDC? Gotta' say, that's a surprise, had you pegged as more of a Macklemore or Drake fan."

Peter smiled, laughing breathily, seemingly amused,

"Macklemore is cool." Wade agreed with a nod, "I'm not fussy though, I kinda' just like music in general." his smile faded for a moment, replaced with a sad frown before becoming a sad smile, "But, uh, ACDC was sort of Tony's favourite band, and the ringtone kinda' reminds me of him. He loved old rock and roll music, you know." and he sounded so fond and soft that Wade didn't even feel offended by the fact that Peter called it 'old' music. Being 49 years old (albeit only in number), it was music Wade had considered relevant when he'd listened to it in his early teens.

He chose not to ask about Stark, it seemed like it was apparently still a sore spot for Peter; as it was, the death of Tony Stark was regularly commemorated, making it difficult to avoid the man's memory.

He decided instead to move on to his next question,

"Early dinner at a fancy restaurant, with someone back from Paris? Sounds important." he wasn't usually one to ask personal questions, let alone to get answers, but he wanted to see if Peter would really let him know more about him just for the asking.

And it seemed he would because he answered easily and without hesitation,

"Yeah, Pepper and Morgan were out of the country for the last few months, now they're back and she's invited us, uh, my aunt, Happy and me, to dinner in Manhattan to, you know, catch up or whatever." he shrugged nonchalantly.

But Wade was a little stuck,

"P-Pepper, as in, Pepper Potts?" he was as surprised and confused as he sounded.

Peter seemed to realize what he'd said was a bit shocking, and he explained,

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm so used to everyone knowing who I'm talking about." he shook his head, "Yeah, Pepper Potts-Stark and Morgan Stark, she's Pepper and Tony's daughter, uh, duh." he tipped his head, mask lenses shifting briefly, and Wade imagined he'd just rolled his eyes at himself, "And uh, Happy Hogan, he was Tony's friend and asset manager," he smirked like he was telling some inside joke, "for the Avengers. He's been dating my Aunt for a few years, so…" he trailed off, still smiling and Wade had only a moment to try to absorb all that before Peter said, "…and that's your three questions."

Wade snapped back and frowned,

"Hey, no, not fair, that last one was like a mini question after the main question." he didn't even stop Peter as the younger super reached out and took his phone out of his hand,

"You mean a sub-question?" Peter asked sounding amused as he started tapping on Wade's phone very casually, "But yeah, okay, ask your third question." he offered distractedly before Wade could respond to the correction, not looking up from whatever he was doing.

And being given so much leniency in asking personal questions, Wade's mind raced trying to think of what to ask. Sure, he was curious about how very, very involved in Stark's life and family Peter apparently was, but while the answers would be informative, they'd also be fucking boring. And he'd already asked two boring questions. He needed to make the third one good, as if it were his last wish from a genie, it had to be super rewarding.

His eyes widened, the perfect question coming to mind just when he heard ACDC start to play again. It was for only a moment though, before Peter tapped the screen of Wade's phone and ended the call, which meant Wade now officially had Peter –aka Spider-Man's- personal number. Holy fuck-o-moly.

"So, what's your third question?" Peter asked, holding the phone back out to Wade.

Wade took the device, glanced at the contact listed in his phone as Peter -with the spider emoji next to it- and then he looked at Peter, amazed that this was all real, and just went ahead and asked,

"Can I touch your ass, please?" cue the 'bzt' sound of Spidey's mask eye lenses widening, before Wade explained, "It's like the number one thing I've always wanted to do for the longest time, and I know that's creepy considering how you were a minor when I first wanted to touch it, but I didn't know that you were a minor at the time, and now that it's entirely legal for me to want to touch your ass, I'd very, very much like to do that, if it's alright with you." he finished with a throat clearing, before glancing off to the side and whisper-muttering ' _what the fuck_ ' when he realized what an idiot he was for asking such a thing.

Peter's visible skin was bright red again, eye lenses still wide and his mouth quirked as if he wanted to say something, and Wade was quite sure he was about to be told a definitive and curt 'hell no', but then those pretty lips slowly curved upward into a smile that was quite mischievous,

"Technically, that's a request, not a question. But I'll tell you what-…" Peter's voice was playful, almost teasing as he took a step backwards, still smiling, still blushing, "…ask me again the next time I see you." he took another step back, and another.

Wade made a face and groaned dramatically,

"When's that gonna' be?" he very nearly stomped his foot like a child, because by some miracle Spidey wasn't mad at his dumbass question and he'd been _so close_ touching the butt.

Peter was taking more steps backward toward the roof's edge, his lean body slinking further away,

"You've got my number, Wade. You let me know." he said suddenly sounding sweet and almost shy, shrugging with a bounce in his step before he turned and hopped up onto the ledge. And oh, hoho, he was coy and clever and sexy and such a sweet fucking tease, because now he knew Wade would contact him if he wanted to touch the butt; which, of-fucking-course he did. Sneaky Spidey.

"Bye, Wade!" he said all chipper-like, then pulling down his mask right before he front-flipped off the building like the graceful and agile, sexy little fucker that he was, disappearing for a moment before a web line whipped up to stick to another building and the younger super arched back up into sight a moment later with a 'whoop', before disappearing again around the corner of that same building.

And Wade, well, Wade was a man who'd very recently woken out of an emotional coma and was now starved as **fuck**. He was not about to pass up even a moment that he could spend with Peter, especially not if he got to get his hands on that perfectly toned ass. It was too late to keep worrying about getting too close and potential regrets, they'd started already...

So, right where he stood, he looked at his phone and opened a new text to Peter, tapping out a quick message and sending it without preamble.

It read: **hi bb boi, meet up afta ur dinner tonight? You like frozen yogurt? U touch my butt, I touch urs? 3333**

Followed by a skull emoji, poop emoji and a capital L.

He slipped his phone into one of his pouches then and made the running leap back over to the slightly taller building rooftop he'd been on before. He had to catch the ledge and pull himself up, but he managed to not fall, which saved him a lot of time and suit cleaning.

His pizza was a lost cause though, covered in ants as it was after standing open for so long, and his soda was probably flat. And it might have annoyed him if it wasn't for the fact that his phone buzzed with a received message from Peter, just about seven minutes after he'd sent his text.

Peter's message included the name of a Frozen Yogurt bar in Queens and the time to meet, followed by:

 **\- Only if there's no spandex** \- and a winky face.

Wade considered what Peter probably meant by that, and he knew it was likely that Peter wanted to meet up sans their super suits; masks included. The younger super probably wanted it to be Peter and Wade meeting up, not Spider-Man and Deadpool, or Peter and Deadpool. Of course, and unfortunately, that wasn't an option for Wade. It'd been too long that he'd been isolated and hiding behind his mask for him to go back to how he used to just walk around in a hoodie with just the hood pulled up. He wasn't ready to face the stares again.

But he could compromise and compensate for the fact that he couldn't go out bare faced.

He didn't ever really bother to dress up or clean himself up beyond the basic, necessary hygiene of one shower a day (two if it he got bloody) and brushing his teeth. That was basically it for him, but he would make some effort for Peter.

* * *

Peter had only just climbed into his bedroom window when he could no longer wait to check his phone, which he'd felt vibrate. Usually he would have checked his messages while swinging, but he was in a hurry to get home and clean himself up for dinner and text messages could wait.

Except it occurred to him two minutes from home that it might be Wade, even though it seemed unlikely and silly that it would be so soon. Still, he'd been too impatient and eager not to check, and true enough he was right, it was the older man who'd texted…and had asked him out?

It sounded like it might be that, and man, after Wade holding him, being pressed up against Wade like that, Wade who had such a firm, muscled body –that Peter had no idea he could feel so attracted to-, and after feeling the _reaction_ Wade had to him, after being so close…close enough to kiss if it hadn't been for Wade's mask...shit, Peter really wanted it to be a date. And maybe he was getting ahead of himself when he still wasn't sure exactly how much he could handle or what he was ready for, but the feeling of _wanting_ something was making him impulsive.

Not letting himself overthink anything, he shot a quick text back to Wade of where they could meet, followed by an indirect request to meet out of their super suits, because he really wanted to see Wade. He wanted to meet him properly, because the sincere, monogamously inclined side of him hoped one date would eventually become dating if it went well, which he honestly thought it would. Their personalities seemed compatible so far. Still, though, dating a man was already a strange and new concept for him, considering he'd only recently discovered he wasn't exclusively heterosexual, but deciding to date a man whose face he hadn't yet seen would be way **too** strange.

He had to know who Wade was, the person under the suit, not just Deadpool.

Abruptly remembering he had somewhere to be, Peter tossed his phone on to his bed and de-suited with a quick press of the spider symbol on his chest, which released the nano-based spandex material from clinging to him. It was a feature that Tony had designed in the original material suit, and Peter favored it so he'd kept it when making subsequent suit designs over the years.

As he went about grabbing a towel and rushing into his bathroom to shower, his thoughts remained on Wade, making him role his eyes at himself and shake his head because he felt silly. He couldn't deny he was surprised at himself for how quickly a very definable attraction to Wade had developed in him. It happened much faster, and almost irrationally, when compared to his previous attractions to Liz and then MJ, and even other pretty girls that he'd met and liked fleetingly over the years. And he had to wonder about it, because obviously this meant he was bisexual –if he had to put a label on it- but did his quick, heated, and frankly startlingly strong, attraction to Wade mean he had a preference for men and he'd never realized it? There was no way though, right? Surely he'd have noticed something like that.

He'd been running the shower for the water temperature to settle, and once it had he stepped in, letting the hot spray soak into his skin and flatten his sweaty hair for a minute, before he began to wash himself. And he snorted softly as he washed his hair, thinking that at least after this time of seeing and getting close to Wade, there was no blood to wash away.

He frowned after that thought, as he ran his hands over his hair and down over his face, thinking of how after that blood-soaked meeting where Deadpool had run off, he'd been so adamant that he was going to just forget the mercenary, since the man had seemed totally uninterested. And Peter had been working on convincing himself that Deadpool was bad news; after all, superheroes had no business socializing with mercenaries…

But the moment he'd woken up from his brief smoke-inhalation fainting spell on that rooftop and had seen Deadpool there, trying to help him, all of his built-up resolve had shattered, and he'd just felt _happy_ to see the man again, and happy to know he cared enough to have come over to check on him. Happy to still feel the calm of his spider-senses around such a dangerous individual, and to hear the smile in Wade's voice when talking to him.

He was also happy with himself, for having been brave enough to take the opportunity to get close to Wade again, which had led to clearing up whatever had been making Wade hold back. And he'd thought about being in Wade's arms so many times over the past weeks, and so being back in the man's arms, even closer than before, with his own arms around Wade's neck and the man's _large_ hands so low on his back...it'd felt good. Thinking of it right then felt good, too, and also a little like he was taking a risk, just as he'd felt earlier when he'd thought that he wouldn't have minded Wade's hands going lower.

And when Wade had plainly asked to touch his ass, Peter's mind and pulse had raced...

He'd had no idea he could even think so boldly, let alone tease Wade like he had before he'd left the man standing on the rooftop. He was surprising himself more and more, and presently his face was red and hot again, heart beating faster and body responding to some residual arousal lingering from earlier; arousal primarily from feeling that Wade hadn't been lying when he'd said he would get a boner.

And while Peter had seen glances of penises in public restrooms and gym locker rooms, and even erections in straight porn, it was a very different experience having one actually pressed against his stomach, especially with how thin their suits were and the fact that he was attracted to the person attached to the erection.

He'd been consciously and subconsciously thinking about what it all meant for him since first realizing he was attracted to Wade that night in the Bronx; thinking about what sex with another man would be like, the logistics of it, thinking over what he theoretically knew about it verses what it would actually be like in practice. And he'd expected, when considering ever going that far with another man, to feel more apprehensive about actually getting so intimately acquainted with another man's body sexually. And yet, when he and Wade had been close enough to kiss earlier and he'd been able to feel Wade's body against his own, and Wade's erection against his stomach, all he'd felt was nervous _anticipation_ and a lot of heated curiosity.

He sighed presently, causing a fine spray of water from his nose and lips where his head was ducked down under the fall of water. It was cascading over his hair, the sides of his face, his shoulders and neck, and down over his legs, rinsing away all the body wash he'd soaped himself up with, and he took in a deep breath through his nose to calm his racing mind, exhaling after as he kept his eyes closed. He could feel he was partially hard, his cock having thickened a bit, and his stomach was knotted up just slightly, too, as he processed his new and scary feelings of attraction to Wade; how quickly it'd developed and with such an intensity.

He wanted to analyze the heck out of it, wanted to know what was different about this attraction, wanted to understand whether it was that it was because he liked Wade in particular for some reason, or whether he'd been latently inclined toward some level of same sex attraction since puberty. He had missed five years of normal growth after all, having blipped back into a world where he was both a teenager and not at the same time.

And even before that, his life had been chaotic. Being Spider-Man since fourteen had taken up almost all of his attention, everything that he'd tried to cling to that classified as 'normal' for an average teenage boy had been overshadowed by being Spider-Man. He'd liked Liz pre-Spider-Man, though, so Spider-Man's life had had no influence on that attraction. But liking MJ had been almost sort of…expected? Seeing as how she was the _only_ girl he'd really known in school that he'd been any kind of close to, so it'd made sense to him, and then she'd figured and found out he was Spider-Man and he'd thought at the time, that that was even more perfect! He'd felt that it would have made everything so much easier…

And it had, but only for a while.

He let out a heavy breath as he shut the water off, having gone from aroused to somber to feeling exhausted in the span of his twenty-minute shower. He reminded himself again then that he had somewhere to be, before realizing he'd taken too much time showering and he cursed as he rushed to get out of the shower cubicle, having to stick his feet to the tiles as he hopped out since he almost slipped.

Showering had taken longer than he'd meant it to, but brushing his teeth went fairly quick. Still, in the end he worried about running late because what actually took the longest was the process of finding a button-down shirt that didn't look too wrinkled –because he really didn't want to iron the damn thing. But he'd known all along he would end up having to because Peter Parker did not do _folding_ or _hanging up_ his clothes in any way that could be considered neat or tidy.

So, after searching in vain, he settled on a dark navy-blue, long sleeve button-down, and he decided to wear that over a T-shirt, vetoing the idea of a dinner jacket – of which he only owned one- because it seemed too formal. After ironing everything, including a pair of his lesser worn black jeans –were you supposed to iron jeans?- he got dressed quickly, buttoning up the shirt to hide the ' _May the (F=mdv/dt) Be With You'_ white text on the front of his black T-shirt.

He had twenty-five minutes to get done by the time he was ready to tackle his hair and Peter found himself staring into the full-length mirror inside his wardrobe, taking in his reflection. He was fully dressed, sans shoes and with untamed damp hair, when it occurred to him that the jeans he was wearing were a little tighter than he usually preferred, hence the reason they were barely worn.

They were a pair he hadn't bothered to wear since the first few dates he went on with MJ so long ago. They were his good jeans, expensive ones, a pair of fitted Levi's, and he'd subconsciously chosen to wear them because he knew they made his legs looks good…made his butt look damn good too, according to MJ at least.

Eyes widening in mild embarrassment of himself, he turned his attention to his wild nest of hair and blew out a slow breath, trying to shake off the onset of nervousness. He really wanted his frozen yogurt hang out to be a date, and it was showing through in his actions without him even realizing it. He just hoped May wouldn't scrutinize him too closely, since she'd asked him to dress up but was likely to not really be expecting anything from him besides a flannel shirt, some clean jeans and the single pair of leather dress boots he owned.

"I'll tell her it's because of Pepper and Morgan, because we haven't seen them in a long time." he muttered to himself, and began the process of taming his hair in a way he hadn't bothered to do since the time he and MJ first started dating. He didn't have much hair product anymore these days though, so it didn't look quite as neat by the time he was done, but it'd do, as long as he didn't get caught in a sudden gust of ruthless wind.

He was basically done then, with only ten minutes to spare, so without thinking too much about it, he applied his deodorant stick, followed by what he thought was a _reasonable_ amount of his rarely used cologne –a gift from May that he forgot about most of the time-, and after putting on his dress boots, he rushed out of his apartment.

He hastily pocketed his wallet and keys as he made his way down the stairs and out of his apartment building the normal way. He figured he probably wouldn't make it to May's apartment by the time she'd told him to, but the good thing was that May and Happy didn't live _very_ far from him so he wouldn't be _too_ late. Bonus, he managed to hail a cab almost immediately after he rushed out of the building.

He spent the cab ride patting his hair down somewhat frequently so it remained presentable as the product dried, and in the end, at just about six minutes late, he was out of the cab and running up the walkway to the front door of the house May and Happy lived in his Queens, where he rang the doorbell.

May and Happy had moved in together a while back and Happy had insisted on buying a house. May, of course, had insisted he didn't buy something overly expensive, and after working for Tony for so many years, Happy was pretty well off, so he could have bought a bigger house in a fancier part of NY. But to appease May, they'd settled on a nice two-story house in Kew Gardens, on a suburban-esque street. Peter himself lived in Astoria, in an affordable, but still nice, apartment on the top floor of five story apartment building. It was a one-bedroom apartment, not big, but also not small and it had working utilities all year around and a building super who didn't slack off.

And Peter took care of his apartment, he liked his apartment…and thinking of that as he stood at May and Happy's door, he suddenly wondered where Wade lived; how far from Queens? Maybe even in Queens? Close to Peter? Maybe Peter would invite him around to his place, he hadn't had anyone visit him besides May and Happy since MJ broke up wi-

The door swung open and Peter refocused to find Happy smiling at him,

"Peter, hey," the man stepped back to let him inside, giving him a once over at the same time, "looking spiffy, kid." Happy commented with a smirk. Peter had just closed the door behind himself and he turned to face Happy in the entrance hall with a small frown,

"Come on, Happy, I'm 24, man, I'm not a kid."

Happy just snorted,

"Or you're 19." he reminded and Peter grimaced, but Happy ignored it to remind him, "Either way, I'm 52 years old, Pete, to me you'll _always_ be a kid." reaching out to pat Peter's shoulder once before pushing him lightly to go inside.

Peter sighed, shoulders sagging as he let the older man push him toward the living room. He was trying not to think of the fact that everyone older than him always saw him as a kid, and the fact that Wade was older than him, although Peter had no idea how much older. But surely Wade didn't think of him as a _kid_ just because he was younger, especially not after that afternoon. Peter blinked and shook himself mentally to clear away those thoughts before they could fluster him. It was not the time and certainly not the place.

"May's almost ready." Happy informed him, pulling on a dinner jacket over his white dress shirt.

Peter walked over to the nearest sofa with a huff,

"She told me to rush here. I was literally coming from an _explosion_ , and now she's not ready." he grumbled and sat down,

"You were saying?" he sprang back up like a shot when May walked into the room, eyebrow hiked up.

"Hey, May." Peter flashed his most loving nephew smile at her as she gave him a 'look', but in the next second she was smiling as she approached and it never failed to make Peter feel at home and like he belonged more than when she was hugging him and kissing his cheek.

"You look beautiful, babe." Happy said to her with a smile as she walked over to grab up her purse and some other things off a nearby room divider. And yes, she did look very nice but,

"Babe? Ew, Happy. no, please, just no." Peter made a grossed-out face at the man.

May laughed lightheartedly and Peter loved that she was so happy,

"Am I not hot enough to be considered a babe?" she asked with raised eyebrows, "Or a, uh, what's it called?" she looked up from her purse, "A MILF?"

Peter spluttered, face red,

"What, **no**! You're not. I mean, I don't mean you're not pretty but..." well this was awful, "Ugh, oh my God, MILF, May, what- it's –you're, do you even know…"

"She's a babe to me." Happy interrupted his grossed out sputtering as he went over to a smiling May, held her lightly and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, honey." May responded, smiling up at him.

It was both gross and heartwarming to see them so happy.

"Calm down, Peter, you look like your face is about to light on fire." May laughed good naturedly, "Did MJ never call you babe?" she asked, and she was teasing, Peter knew. May knew MJ wasn't a sore spot for him, not in the way exes usually were. They'd both loved her and considered her family.

Still, the answer was no, MJ had never called him _babe_ , or _honey_ , or _sweetheart_. She'd called him _tiger_ sometimes, which honestly, Peter never really understood why or where that nickname had come from. Had she just been fond of the phrase? Peter was hardly comparable to a jungle cat, not in behavior or appearance. Least of all in super abilities. He'd liked it well enough though, despite wondering sometimes if it was intended as teasing and ironic. Also, he'd never called her any pet names either.

Wade though, Wade called him Baby Boy, and somehow it never sounded like he meant it with reference to Peter's age. The tone of Wade's voice when he said it was always just the right amount of…something. But whatever it was, it was not a platonic nickname.

And Peter liked it. He really did.

"Peter, you okay, honey?" May asked, standing near enough now to reach out and push a strand of his loose hair back into place with her nails, before she tapped his cheek lightly, "You look a little dazed. You said you were okay earlier," now she looked concerned, "did the smoke-"

"No, no, I'm fine, May I promise." he rushed to reassure her.

"You sure?" Happy asked, also looking concerned, "You kind of spaced out there."

Peter nodded quickly, looking between them,

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm just -just tired." he used it as an excuse. Although he was actually tired, that was hardly the reason for his day dreaming.

May regarded him a moment longer before she nodded,

"Okay, well," she started walking toward the front door, a hand on Peter's arm pulling him along, "let me know if you don't feel well, okay? Smoke inhalation is very bad." she said worriedly.

"He's got a healing factor, May, don't worry too much." Happy informed as he followed behind.

"Healing factor?" Peter asked, feeling suddenly like he'd heard the term before, but wher- oh, right, Wade. Wade had used that term. Peter had been too distracted to ask about it before, but now that he was taking notice of it, he realized Wade had used it more than once.

"Is that like the thing where he heals faster than normal?" May asked just after him, all three of them walking outside.

Happy nodded, talking as he locked up the house,

"Yeah, that's what SHIELD calls it anyway." he turned to face them, the trio making their way down the side path to Happy's car; a new Audi model. Happy also kept up certain mementos of Tony Stark. "I've come across the term in a couple of files over the years. It was mostly used amongst mutants until recently. It's starting to catch on amongst mutates now, too." Happy unlocked the car with the remote and very gentlemanly, he opened the passenger side door for May.

Once they were all seated inside, Peter in the back seat sitting behind May, Happy reversed out of the driveway.

Five minutes into the trip, Peter's mind was stuck on the questions of whether Wade knowing that term meant the mercenary was a mutant, or whether he somehow knew about it because he was affiliated with SHIELD somehow. In the end, he couldn't contain his curiosity,

"So, like, who?" he asked, not having actually met any mutants in his life besides Wanda, and wondering about which mutates besides himself had these _healing factors_.

"Hm, what?" Happy frowned at him via the rearview mirror.

"I mean, whose files have you seen, these people with, uh, healing factors?"

"Well, you probably don't know the mutants, and neither do I actually." Happy admitted, but he looked contemplative before he said, "The people that we know with healing factors, besides you?" Peter nodded for him to go on with a glance at the mirror, "Uh, not many, it's pretty much just Banner, or, you know, the Hulk more specifically, and Captain Marvel."

Peter raised his eyebrows,

"Really? What about Cap-uh, Steve Rogers? And the Winter Soldier?"

Happy shrugged facially, focusing on the road now as they entered more traffic,

"Not considered to be a healing factor. They're superhuman, so I think it's just considered advanced healing." he frowned, "Honestly, it gets pretty confusing."

"I'll say." May commented, watching the traffic as they drove.

Peter wondered about it quietly, knowing that he healed pretty damn fast, definitely faster than Steve and Bucky...so maybe there was a difference. He figured he should let the subject drop though, since he didn't really know any mutants and only a few mutates.

But then Happy said,

"I'll tell you something freaky though," he was smiling a bit and Peter and May both looked at him with expectant expressions, "there's a classified list of individuals with healing factors that SHIELD have marked as 'Special Circumstances', due to how advanced their healing factors are." Peter frowned but Happy kept talking before he could ask, "I haven't seen the list myself, but Tony did a few years back. He told me that the list wasn't very long, but that it was a good thing it wasn't, because some of the individuals on that list could survive almost _anything_. As in, they are almost considered immortal."

"Immortal? Is that possible? How is that possible?" May asked, frowning now as well.

"Well, he couldn't tell me much," Happy shrugged, "he wasn't supposed to be talking about it at all. I think he was just freaked out by it." understandably so, Peter was a little freaked out too, wondering if any of those people were _villains_ , "But in the past years, some of those classified individuals have become known to the Avengers, so it's less of a big secret these days." Happy shrugged again. "I remember Tony and Cap had scheduled an Avengers meeting once, the directive came down from SHIELD. I think you were in school that day, Pete." he met Peter's eyes via the mirror briefly, "It was a meeting on mutants and mutates to avoid ever going head to head with if possible. Serious stuff."

"Are you even allowed to talk about this stuff?" May asked, sounding concerned and disapproving, while Peter was processing what Happy just said, realizing that such a warning meant that some of those classified individuals **were** villains, or at least not necessarily good guys.

Happy looked mildly offended and a little worried,

"No, I'm not really, but Peter _is_ an Avenger. And he's basically Tony's successor." he said as if that was a powerful status of some kind, and yeah, maybe it was, but Peter still felt a rush of shock and anxiety whenever he heard the words 'Tony's successor' directed at him, '"and anyway, I trust you, you're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Happy asked May.

May sighed,

"No, of course I won't. Still, though, what if these special circumstances individuals don't want _anyone_ knowing who they are? Are they dangerous?" she frowned deeper.

"I'll say, a lot of em' are bad guys from what Tony said in that meeting. Like, villain-level bad."

"Wha-?" Peter exhaled at the same time as May said,

"Oh my God. Stop talking about this." she sighed again and then she looked back at Peter suddenly before looking at Happy crossly, "Shouldn't Peter know who they are, for his own safety?"

Peter cleared his throat,

"Uh, yeah, I mean, I've never heard of any of em.'" he piped up, "Do I have to watch out for them here in New York." he asked, a little concerned now, because if the Avengers were warned not to go toe-to-toe with these people, this was probably something Peter had to know about, whether he'd decide to fight them or not.

Happy seemed a little tense now too, sighing as he made a left turn,

"I don't know any of their names, Pete, I'm not an Avenger nor am I a SHIELD agent." he said reasonably, "But you should check with E.D.I.T.H, whatever Tony knew and thought you should know, she'll know." he advised, and Peter realized that was actually a great idea.

"Yeah, you're right, thanks Happy."

"If that doesn't work, you could always just call Fury." the man added and Peter made a face,

"Uh..." he didn't like that idea at all.

"And whoever they are," May interrupted, "you do as Tony Stark, or SHIELD, or whoever, said and you _do not_ try to fight them alone, Peter. Do you hear me?" she said in her 'no bullshit' tone of voice, looking back at him over her shoulder.

Peter found himself conceding verbally, even though he doubted he would actually be able to follow through on that if he ran into one of these healing factor bad guys and they were trying to hurt someone. He'd be compelled to fight; it was what superheroes were supposed to do.

"May's right, some of those guys are really bad news." Happy tacked on, "Tony was freaked out for a reason, Peter. I doubt they're everyday weirdos in a mechanical flight suit, or even bigger mad scientist weirdos hiding behind a drone army illusion. Those were humans." he made references to Peter's past enemies, and it made his stomach clench up. "But the people on that list are the sort that _can't_ be put down easily, if at all, and not permanently even if you managed to once or twice. They always get back up and end up coming back. So, once you get that list, memorize it, and steer clear." he warned, sounding quite serious now, "Anyone, especially a bad guy, who can regrow their head, is bad news."

Peter and May, were both shocked by that statement, and after he absently muttered an agreement to Happy's warning, it became silent in the car for the rest of the drive. Peter was looking out of the window at the passing people and buildings, but his mind was elsewhere as he decided he'd consult EDITH that night after he got home from seeing Wade. He _needed_ to know who was on that list. For his safety, sure, but for the safety of others as well.

He put those thoughts aside though, when they arrived at the restaurant, and he smiled brightly when they approached their reserved table and he saw Pepper and Morgan waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave your thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> Story and chapter titles throughout are by or adapted from music artists: Brand New / Bayside / Meg Myers


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